married lady with her baby. We were talking of Miss Buss, and
she said, ‘I only saw her once, when I was five years old, but I
have never forgotten her. She saved me from a cruel nurse who
ran away from me, and hid in the coal-yards near Chalk Farm
Station, while I cried because I was lost. A lady came by and
took my hand and comforted me and asked me where I lived. “Near
some mountains—red mountains,” I said, and her quick perception
divined that I meant some new houses being built near Primrose
Hill. She took me in the direction of Oppidan’s Road, where I
soon recognized my home; and, after her interview with my
mother, I need not say the nurse had to leave.’”
It is delightful to read Miss Buss’ holiday letters about the children,
who were often with their aunt while their parents went for rest and
change. While the world was standing in awe of the “eminent
educationalist” she was inditing sweet letters full of babytalk, of wise
counsel hid in nonsense, or of the affection of which her heart was so
full—
“1865.
“MY DEAR LITTLE MOTHER,
“Oh! what a boy is ours! to talk about ‘jolly’! Naughty
little monkey! We want a three-year old, not a grown-up boy.
Kiss him thousands of times for his loving Arnie, whose heart
goes out to him twenty times a day at least. She pictures to
herself, over and over again, the sweet little shy face on the
pier, and her boy waiting to throw himself into her arms when
she lands.
“I went last night to see Léonie, more especially to get a kiss
of Nina.”
“Stockholm, August 30, 1871.
“MY DEAR LITTLE MOTHER,
“You do not deserve, by the way, to be the mother of sons!
You want sweet little goody children—girls—who will sit still,
and be made fine, always do what they are told (in public!),
never make a noise, and be clever, well-informed children, who
will answer any question (provided it be given in the form
printed in their books), write beautifully, and _spell_
splendidly! Thank goodness! ‘_my_’ child is not one of those
dear darling little humbugs. Why, I am quite proud of his
writing, and his spelling wants time, of course. How many of
Miss F.’s class spell better than he? None, of course. Nor do
Nina and May-May spell better. Their French bothers them. Frank
is a sensible, well-informed lad for his age, and, above all, he
has a desire for knowledge. Education is not reading and
writing, but means a desire to acquire information. As for
Arthur, he is a darling; kiss him for his Arnie.”
“1864.
“My dear darling ba-lamb (lioness rather) sister, I hunger and
thirst after you and our boy to a painful degree. It is very
distressing, but as I grow older I find my heart-strings are
really pulled violently by a select few. It is quite painful to
have a heart and feel its existence.
“God bless you all, prays your loving sister
“FANNY.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER IV.
FRIENDSHIPS.
“A true friend is one that makes us do all we can; those who
trust us, educate us.”
“To _have_ friends one must _be_ a friend,” was true of this life on
both sides. She _was_ a friend, and she _had_ friends in abundance. Of
her women-friends we have had full proof, and we may count almost as
many men who mourn her loss with feeling scarcely less intense. Many who
are less known to fame will echo words like these from some of the
leaders in education. The Bishop of Winchester writes of her as “one of
the truest, wisest, and ablest women it has ever been my privilege to
know and esteem as a friend.” Dr. W. G. Bell, of Cambridge, adds, “Only
those who had the privilege of being called her friend realized how
faithful she was to her friendships, as well as loyal to the work which
was so dear to her.” Dr. Wormell, on hearing of the fatal nature of her
illness, speaks from a full heart—
“The news you give me fills me with sadness. Miss Buss gave me
her helping hand and cheering smile when I had few friends, and
had scarcely crept from obscurity. It is not easy for me to say
what is the depth and length and breadth of my affection for
her—in all dimensions it is beyond measure. I grieve as one who
suffers irreparable loss, and can scarcely ask myself what of
others who have been closer to her?”
Dr. Hiron says that—
“illness prevents the privilege of joining those who will gather
in large numbers to do her honour. But though not present in
person I shall be with them in spirit, and in the hearty desire
to give to her of the fullest appreciation of her personal
qualities and of her great services to the cause of education,
particularly of the higher education of women.
“I first met her at Dr. Hodgson’s, nearly twenty-five years ago.
For many years I saw a great deal of her, especially at the time
when I was secretary of the Girls’ Public Day School Company.
From the first I was profoundly impressed by her insight into
educational problems, but, most of all, by her devotion, heart
and soul, to the work to which she had put her hand.”
Mr. Storr speaks not only as an educationalist but as a friend—
“I mourn a very old and very true friend. I always felt with her
that, differ as we might—and we often differed on educational
politics—she was absolutely single-eyed, and her judgment was
never warped by personal ambition or _arrière pensée_. My girls,
as you know, were greatly attached to her, and I owe her much as
having set them the example of a noble-minded, generous,
great-souled woman.”
Her influence over young men, the friends of her nephews, or brothers of
her pupils, was very remarkable, and it would not be easy to count the
number who can add to the words of one of the college friends of the
Rev. Francis F. Buss—
“To me your aunt’s friendship was a most valued privilege, and I
owe very much to her both on account of her personal influence
over me, and the many pleasant friendships she made for me; and
last, but not least, that she was one of the first people to
introduce me to ladies’ society at all.”
Her letters to her nephew while at Cambridge quite explain this
influence. She was not in the least afraid of young men, but was her own
real true self always, thus touching the reality below their surface
pretences. Here is one of her grave letters—
“I am very deep in work, but I manage to find time for you, and
to think of you and your approaching ordination. You are about
to take the most serious step in your life, and I hope and pray
that it may be blessed to you and to those among whom you may
have to work during the rest of your life. It is a noble
profession, but one that entails much self-control and
self-sacrifice. But if you think chiefly of the work to which
you are called, and not of yourself, you will be useful and
happy. You must not think too much about what people may say or
think of you, but simply do your work faithfully and leave the
results. You are disposed to mind ‘Mrs. Grundy’ too much, my
very dear boy, but this is not a good thing if carried to
excess. To be careful in imagination, to put one’s self into the
place of another, is right, but this is the opposite of minding
‘Mrs. Grundy.’”
These letters are full of wisdom as well as of tender thoughtfulness.
She wanted him to profit to the full by the advantages which she
esteemed so highly.
“At Cambridge, more than anywhere else,” she says (for the
moment forgetting Oxford), “is to be found the highest product,
so far, of human civilization. Men there get the highest culture
ever yet attained, and the ‘Dons’ are also the most finished
gentlemen. There is an indescribable something in the bearing,
air, tone of voice even, of a Cambridge man which I believe he
never loses all his life. But the men are most courteous towards
women: that is one distinct mark of their training. I have never
heard a rough word nor seen a rough act towards women, and I
want you to become such a man as the best men in your
University.”
At the same time she is interested in the smallest details of the new
life, as when she writes—
“It was a great delight to me to see you in your rooms. But the
sofa is rather shabby. Shall I send you an Afghan rug to throw
over it? Tell me. Perhaps you would rather choose one for
yourself?”
But of all the friends of whom she thought and for whom she cared time
would fail to tell. Her sky was full of “bright particular stars,” each
moving in its own orbit. Perhaps her regard may have been most fixed by
the “double-stars,” of which there were many brilliant examples. Her
“dual friendships” seemed to have doubled strength and joy for her. It
was either that her friends married to please her as well as each other,
or that she could at the same time include divergent characters; but all
her life she was singularly happy in her married friends.
Her ideal of family life was high, as we see from an interesting letter
written from Bonaly in September, 1877—
“As I travelled here, on Tuesday, by way of Kendal and Carlisle,
my mind was full of you. You remember our journey together to
Edinburgh? I left Salisbury, on Monday, in a dreadful storm of
rain. It is much colder here. Along the road, it was quite
sorrowful to see the sheaves of corn standing in water! Whole
fields, too, are lying under water.
“During my railway journey here, and one last Saturday to
Cheltenham, I read ‘Kingsley’s Life.’ It is intensely
interesting, and is to me like a strong tonic. It braces one up
and leaves strength behind. How he suffered in middle life, and
how bravely he bore up, under undeserved blame, is all told, and
how loving, tender, and faithful he was as a husband.
“His married life is a beautiful poem. Mrs. Kingsley was
everything to him. For her sake, he revered all womanhood. One
of his children speaks of the happy evenings at Eversley Rectory
when ‘father sat with his hand in mother’s,’ and poured out his
brave, strong words for wife and children only.
“I esteem it one of the proud moments in my life, when Canon
Kingsley thought it worth while to stand and talk with Miss
Chessar and me about our school, and expressed his wish to visit
us—a wish never fulfilled. His life is so much more after my
heart than Harriet Martineau’s, which I have also been looking
at. Her strictures on men and women are so harsh—there was
little love and tenderness in her nature, and she seems always
to say hard things—things which leave a sting behind. I shudder
at her absence of all belief, and wonder how she could bear life
after ceasing to believe in a personal God and immortality.
Kingsley’s life is an antidote to hers.”
In early days Mr. and Mrs. Laing held equal rank in her regard. Then her
brothers—her _friends_ as well as kin—gave her dear friends as well as
loved sisters in their wives. Here is a pretty little note which was
written on their wedding-day to Mr. and Mrs. Septimus Buss, addressed to
“Dear old boy—Dear little ‘coz.’” After describing the later events of
the wedding-day, she says of the wife of the vicar—
“Mrs. N. is a dear! She said she was much interested in your
wedding, as she had a hand in it, and liked old Sep, and she
spoke so nicely about him in particular, and things in general,
that I fell in love with her; and then, to complete her victory,
she admired Léonie, my dear ‘old’ sister. Now, did she not go
the right way to win me for ever?”
She had not lost this sprightly style in writing, in 1873, of the change
which took the Rev. Septimus Buss from the chaplaincy of St. Pancras
Workhouse to the Rectory of Wapping—
“‘Many a time and oft’ have I thought of you and wished to be a
bird, that I might fly to you. But even you cannot guess what
the last fortnight has been!
“I was dictating this morning ‘du déplorable sort des choses
humaines, qui veut qu’au succès social soient toujours mêlées
des disgrâces, et que nos joies soient toujours accompagnées de
tristesses.’
“My dear boy Sep has a living offered him by the bishop—at last!
The great desire of my heart (outside the work—well, no!—inside
everything) has been to see him out of the workhouse! Well, he
is to go to Wapping.... How true it is that nothing is simple
and single....”
In 1881 she writes to the Rev. Septimus Buss on his transference to the
Vicarage of Shoreditch—
“I am so thankful to know of your promotion. You both deserve
it, for you are model parish chiefs. Shoreditch must be very
poor, judging from the little one sees in passing through
it—only I suppose it is not damp. Dear little mother, I hope you
will like the place. Anyhow, it is better than Wapping.”
Of another dual friendship we have a charming glimpse in a note to Dr.
J. G. Fitch, in response to the gift of his first book—
“Since seeing you, I have looked at the dedication, and am much
touched by it.
“It is a great privilege and happiness to know such a home as
yours.
“Lately, I have been talking to my young people about women’s
duties, and I quoted Mills’ dedication to ‘Liberty,’ De
Toqueville’s tribute to his wife, and others. Yours is but
another example of the wife’s ‘work and counsel’ which enables a
man to do and ‘write things useful.’
“I thank you most warmly for the book itself, for the kind words
with which it was accompanied, and I also thank you for the
dedication, because, through the ‘dearest wife,’ it is a tribute
to all women.”
Also in the home of Dr. and Mrs. Hodgson, she found full scope for the
strong element of romance which never died out of her nature. Some part
of her holiday was always spent with them, and she expanded to the full
in these congenial surroundings. They lived for a time in London; then
at Bournemouth, where Mrs. Hodgson went to be near her father, Sir
Joshua Walmsley; and finally at Bonaly, when Dr. Hodgson filled the
Chair of Economic Science in Edinburgh, each home being more charming
than the last.
She first writes of these visits to me in 1872—
“My Bournemouth visit has been most pleasant, as indeed my
visits to Mrs. Hodgson always are. She is one of the most
lovable, loving, and unselfish women I know, and her home-life
is a constant lesson. She is one of those whom I dearly love,
and who are necessary to me. Yet, seven years ago, I did not
know her. Her father’s illness and death have tried her much
lately, and Dr. Hodgson’s absence in Edinburgh throws much
responsibility on her.”
In 1858, Dr. Hodgson was Assistant-Commissioner on the First Royal
Commission of Inquiry into Primary Education, and he probably became
interested in Miss Buss in connection with her evidence before the
Secondary Commission, in 1865. After that date, he gave his lectures on
Physiology and Political Economy in her school, and acquaintance ripened
into friendship. Three thick note-books, in her own writing, testify to
her interest in the lectures, as well as to her indomitable energy and
industry.
In 1873, she says—
“The temptation to go to Bradford is immense. My dear friend,
Dr. Hodgson, who has done more for me intellectually than any
man, except Mr. Laing, in my whole life, is president! But to go
from Friday to Monday would hardly be of any use, would it? And
I could not be absent a week. Can we find out _when_ the papers
are read?
“I am so driven! It is really dreadful, and I feel so weary that
I can hardly bear myself. But when the machine is once wound up
and set going, I get better.
“I fear that Bradford meeting will clash with our Board meeting.
October 8th, is it not? Our meeting will be very important, and
I must have _hours_ of leisure to compare the schemes and
annotate them.”
During Dr. Hodgson’s residence in London, before going to Bournemouth,
his house was full of interest to Miss Buss, taking the same place in
her life as Mr. Laing’s had done as a meeting-point for persons with
whom she was in sympathy. Dr. Hiron mentions one eventful dinner-party,
which began the friendship between Mr. and Mrs. Fitch and Miss Buss, as
well as with himself.
There are a few words to her sister, which show the influence of Dr.
Hodgson from 1865, and onwards—
“1865.
“Miss Davies has asked me to meet Miss Clough of Ambleside (who
drew up a plan for co-operation among teachers), Miss Bostock,
and other educational ladies. I cannot help feeling that our new
friend, to whom I am so devoted and grateful, has had greatly to
do with my position lately. It is almost indefinable, but it
would seem as if he had set a stamp on me, so to speak.
Certainly the Cambridge Examination did something—introduced me
to him, for example—but it is only since Christmas that so many
little courtesies have been paid me, officially, I mean. Only
one other person so helped me.”
In some early letters we have descriptions of life at Bonaly Tower,
which indicate the kind of letters she might have written if life had
been less hurried—
“Newcastle-on-Tyne, Jan. 7, 1873.
“I liked Mr. Knox quite as much last Wednesday. He gave me a
hearty welcome, and asked most affectionately for you. From what
Dr. Hodgson says, he is not doing so much on the Merchants’
Company Schools as he was. I lunched at Mr. Pryde’s house, and
then went with him and Mrs. Pryde to the ‘Women’s Medical
Educational Meeting.’ For the first time I heard Miss Jex-Blake
speak; she spoke well. Mr. P. seems sensible and liberal in his
ideas. When you and I were in Edinburgh, it seems Mrs. P. and
two of their children had scarlet fever, and he himself was in
lodgings, away from ‘his own fireside.’ Mrs. P. is quite
‘advanced,’ and, as her husband said, ‘is the most refractory
parent’ he has to do with. ‘She was always wanting something’
(he said before her), ‘or not wanting something else.’ She did
not like her girls to learn so much writing or sewing, for
instance. Their second girl is to be brought up for medicine.
So, you see, Mr. and Mrs. P. must be advanced.
“One day last week, we, _i.e._ Mrs. H., Dr. H., and I went to
lunch with Mrs. MacLaren. Mr. M. is Member for Edinburgh, and
Mrs. and Miss M., as you will perhaps remember, are working for
the Women’s Suffrage. I met there Dr. Guthrie’s youngest son, a
very fine young man, who made a strong impression on me. He is
evidently as fine in mind as in person.”
In speaking of her visits, she had always much to say of the interesting
persons whom she met at Bonaly, and of the talk she so thoroughly
appreciated, well described under the heading, “The Professor at the
Breakfast-Table,” in Mr. Meiklejohn’s “Life of Dr. Hodgson,” as—
“the sparkling table-talk, apt illustration, and racy anecdote
with which the doctor enlivened all the time we sat at table.
Without monopolizing the talk, he never allowed it to flag; and
by manifesting the kindliest interest in the sayings and doings
of all, he induced even the shyest to take his part in a manner
that must have astonished him when he came to look back upon
it.”
Mrs. Hodgson, too, had so much grace and kindness that even this shyest
of her guests was made so much at home as to be “led to imagine that he
must have sat in that particular corner hundreds of times before, though
now for the first time conscious of it.”
Another of Miss Buss’ letters (Sept. 8, 1874) gives an account of the
place itself—
“Bonaly, Sept. 8, 1874.
“Edinburgh, to me, is full of you! So you have been constantly
in my mind since my arrival here, last Friday night.
“Bonaly is five miles out of Edinburgh, but, on a clear day,
there is a splendid view of town, castle, and Arthur’s Seat.
Only, a ‘clear day’ is not a common article, for, since Friday,
I have seen little external sunshine, though, inside, there is
plenty. But Mrs. Hodgson herself is confined to bed, and looks
so fragile that a breath might blow her away. We trust, however,
that she ‘has turned the corner,’ as the doctor says she may be
taken into another room to-day....
“This house is beautifully situated in twenty-eight acres of its
own grounds, and there are hills upon hills all round, except on
the Edinburgh side. Two tiny mountain ‘burns,’ or streams, run
through the grounds, with that constant blue haze over them—a
touch of beauty which we got rarely in the Alps. In these
northern latitudes, it seems to me that there never is the
clear, cloudless sky which we know as the _Italian_, but there
is another kind of beauty—that of the greyish-blue haze which
envelopes everything with a soft and indescribably beautiful
mantle.
“In consequence of Mrs. Hodgson’s health, I left my dear boy at
home, but if he had come, he and George (Dr. H.’s son) would
have been happy together.
“Mr. Knox is expected here on Thursday. He has been asked to
meet me, and I hope he will come. How much you and I liked him.
Miss Blyth is also invited.
“I am writing in the midst of snatches of talk, which makes it
difficult to know what I am writing, but you will not mind jerky
sentences, with no particular thread of connection?...
“There is a capital article on Woman’s Suffrage in this month’s
_Macmillan_; it is by Prof. Cairnes, in answer to Goldwin
Smith’s attack. You do not care so much for this question as I
do, so will scarcely feel the same interest in it.
“Is Agnes pretty well? What is she doing, I wonder? Will you
give her my dear love when you write? There is a very charming
letter from Miss Hierta to me, which shall be sent to you when I
know where you are. What a very sweet woman she is!
“My Hythe holiday was very pleasant; we were such a large family
party. Did I tell you what darlings Frank’s brothers are? Arthur
(six years old) is quite a picture of infant beauty, with his
blue eyes and curly golden hair; and he says such funny things
and makes droll mistakes. He rushed at me once, saying, ‘Arnie,
look at my _apostles_!’ ‘Your what?’ ‘Apostles.’ I found he
meant _fossils_!
“Another day he was reading: ‘And she sung a—a _hullabaloo_!’ He
meant _lullaby_.
“Then the baby-boy, whose only experience of trees and green
grass is the disused churchyard at Wapping, insisted on calling
every green field and clump of trees a ‘nice churchyard!’ Was it
not pathetic?
“If you are writing to Miss Hopkins, please remember me most
kindly to her, and tell her I congratulate her on Miss
Robinson’s success: no doubt she has largely contributed to it.
“I see Miss Robinson has gained her point, and there is really a
Soldier’s Institute at Portsmouth. The military element is
strong at Hythe, in the School of Musketry, and we can see how
it is that the scarlet uniform and gold trimmings are so
popular. To poor people the fine clothes and certain pay must be
very attractive. Contrast the dress and appearance of an
agricultural labourer with that of the labourer who has
enlisted! And then think of the easy life of the latter. Do not
fancy _my_ estimate of soldiers is altered. I am looking at them
from the point of view of the very poor, to whom to have a
soldier son or brother must be a grand promotion.
“Mr. Knox came here on Thursday. I like him still very much, and
he likes you and me. He asked most kindly after you. He also
sent a copy of ‘A Night and Day on board the _Mars_’ to be
forwarded to you, which I duly sent off. You know he is a
staunch teetotaller, and is working desperately in the cause. He
said he had known seventy-five men, of his _own_ position,
ruined by drink, and Dr. Hodgson told me afterwards that this
was no exaggeration. The vice of drunkenness seems to prevail
here more than in London, at least one hears more of it.
“Mr. Knox has nothing now to do with the Company’s schools, but
has given himself up to rescuing _boys_ (I asked him where were
the _girls_?), and has been violently attacked for _kidnapping_
them. An absurd charge, of course. I fear he is not cold and
hardheaded, like the typical Scotchman. But, all the same, I
like him whenever I see him.
“How true is what you say about the money matters of women! But
we are breaking through many of these things, and a later
generation of women will know what independence means. I hope
they will use it properly, for, after all, we cannot be
independent of each other. We have to live in a community.”
“Bonaly, Sept. 8, 1874.
“Your long and interesting letter has just come, dear Annie,
after one from me to you is written, sealed up, and put in the
post-bag.
“I will read the letter in the _Spectator_. It seems to me that
Tyndall only says what you say, namely, that science, so far as
he knows, cannot _prove_ God and immortality. But I do not see
why he need have said as much as he did, except that he is
essentially _aggressive_.
“That people are unjust to him, I admit, and that this ignorance
of his subject and injustice drive him to attack.”
“Bonaly, Sept. 14, 1874.
“I return Mr. S.’s letter, with which Dr. Hodgson was much
amused, as was I. He admired J.’s poem, _Vivia Perpetua_, very
much, and said how good and sweet it was. He also begged me to
ask her whether she knows the ‘Vivia Perpetua’ of Mrs. Flower
Adams, whose sister Sarah is well known for her hymns. He
thought J.’s little poem might well do prefixed to the drama by
Mrs. Adams.
“My dear Mrs. Hodgson is still in bed, where she lies so
patiently that she is a living lesson to me. It is curious, but
she always makes me feel gentle and soft—a lesson I constantly
need, and no one else produces the same effect on me. Had I seen
her before my interview with E. D., the latter would not have
been frightened at my—what shall I say?—_violence!_
“You have a mesmerizing effect on me, but your influence is
quite different—more on the intellectual side, I think. Mrs.
Hodgson is the sweetest, brightest, most fairy-like woman I have
ever known; and the points of contact between her and me are so
many. I have such strong affection and respect for her
husband—he is _so clever_, and inspires one with a kind of awe
for his knowledge (which is in a line I can follow), his
brilliancy, his wonderful power of expression, his tenderness,
his extreme conscientiousness, and his resource. But no one
would venture to take a liberty with him, and I can well imagine
the respectful awe in which his pupils hold him. Then the eldest
boy is so near Frank’s age, and I have had so much to do with
him that he is very dear to me. The two little girls are
perfectly charming.
“Then the house is full of books, pictures, statues, busts, etc.
Every side of my taste is represented, and the books especially
are always delightful to me. I suppose the collection of
educational works is quite unique. Dr. H.’s religious views are
very independent of theology; but, as I have said, he is
intensely reverent, and respects other people’s opinions. His
popularity with his Class in University is immense, as I heard
on Saturday, and I can well understand it is so.
“Mrs. H. is one of those women who is absolutely unselfish. Her
unselfishness extends _beyond_ husband and children, and she can
always speak that soft word that turns away wrath. They are well
matched. She is dependent and clinging, in the best sense, and
he is intensely strong....
“I should like some copies of J.’s ‘Lady Jane Grey.’ Will you
give her my love and ask her?
“When I get home I must get a copy of ‘Hertha’ from Mudie’s. I
know there is one there.
“I shall get back (D.V.) refreshed in every way—intellectually,
physically and morally, and spiritually too, I hope.”
In 1880 came the end of this bright chapter of her life. The death of
Dr. Hodgson brought back the sufferings of the earlier loss in 1860,
when Mr. Laing’s death left so great a blank. Between 1875 and 1880 Miss
Buss had lost her father, and Mr. and Mrs. Payne, and now came the death
of Dr. Hodgson and Miss Chessar in the same month, to all of whom she
had been linked not only by the ordinary ties of life, in more than
ordinary strength, but also by very special sympathy in her personal
work.
Extracts from her letters tell their own story. She and Dr. Hodgson,
with Miss Chessar, Miss Caroline Haddon, Miss Franks, and some others,
had gone to a great educational congress held in Brussels, in which many
of them were to take active part. On August 21 Miss Buss writes to her
sister—
“A very pleasant journey yesterday. The water quite smooth, and
hardly any one ill. We are at present fourteen people and are
shaking down. I am now going to the Bureau to get my ticket for
the Teachers’ Conference, and then to the Exhibition.”
“Aug. 23.
“I am sorry to tell you that Dr. Hodgson is very ill. He has had
to come to our place, as really he could not be left. I am now
writing for an English doctor. If necessary, I must telegraph to
Mrs. Hodgson, or, if possible, must return with him to London,
telegraphing for her to meet him. It is very sad. He thinks it
is some heart affection, but no one can tell till the doctor has
been.”
“Aug. 24.
“Dr. H. is so ill that it is feared he will die.
“I have telegrammed to Mrs. Hodgson, but she cannot get here
till to-night at the earliest. I have been praying most
earnestly that he may live to see her. His lungs are congested,
and he breathes just as our father used to do.
“I have now been with him thirty hours, but a most kind and
experienced teacher, Mr. Harris, a friend of Miss Haddon’s, is
chief nurse.”
On August 17, before leaving Edinburgh, Dr. Hodgson had written to his
friend Mr. A. Ireland—
“My courage fails me as the time draws near for going to
Belgium. For the first time in my life the thought of illness
away from home hangs upon me. I have had queer sensations and
pains in the heart.... The educational conference lasts from the
22nd to 29th inst. I have just received a huge 8vo. volume of
1000 pages, and 3 lbs. 9½ ozs. in weight, containing preliminary
reports for the six sections into which the conference is
divided.”
While in London he consulted a medical man, who assured him that he was
suffering only from indigestion.
But the fatigue and heat of travelling brought on attack after attack of
_angina pectoris_, and on the evening of August 24 the end came.
Of this terrible three days Miss Buss writes—
“I do not think there has ever been so awful a time in my life;
in other griefs my brothers were by my side, and able to help.
In this, everything has fallen on me, and in a foreign country,
too. Had it not been for Miss C. Haddon and Mr. Harris it would
not have been physically possible for me to bear what I have had
to go through. Also the girls of my party were very helpful.
“Dear Mrs. Hodgson does not, as she says, at present understand
things. It is a dream to her: she arrived just twelve hours too
late.
“It is too real to me to be a dream; his dear voice is still
sounding in my ears; he was so patient and so grateful, thanking
us all each time we gave him seltzer-water, etc.
“But I had no idea of death till within a few hours of the end.
“I was with him just thirty-seven hours. He called for me at
five o’clock on Monday morning. I went at once and gave him some
brandy, and then sent for the doctor while Miss Chessar stayed
with him.
“Dearest mother, I long to have you and my boy safe in my
arms—to make sure of you both.
“How I loved my dear friend no words can express. How glad I was
to have him as my guest, and to travel with him! Such an
opportunity had never occurred before.”
From this date some part of Miss Buss’ holiday was always spent with
Mrs. Hodgson, whose own words, after her friend had been taken from her,
show what this friendship was to her also,
“You ask me to tell you something of my friendship with Miss
Buss. I could only do so by giving you a long list of kindnesses
received from her, kindnesses which made one wonder how a woman
leading such a busy life could remember such things as
birthdays, not only of one’s own, but of one’s children and
grandchildren, none of whom were ever forgotten. The terrible
anxiety she went through at Brussels in 1880, during the
Educational Congress there, must have told heavily on her
nerves, already sorely taxed. My husband went with her to
Brussels, and when she found him ill and suffering at his hotel,
she took him to her lodgings and gave up one of her rooms, which
at that time were very difficult to get, Brussels being very
full, and devoted herself to nursing him night and day for the
short and fatal illness. I can never tell you of all she went
through to help me, but can only say that when we arrived at
Bonaly Tower, near Edinburgh, where we brought our beloved, she
was very ill, the result of what she had gone through, not only
to nurse her old friend, but when all was over to help and
comfort me, utterly forgetful of self. Ever since that sad time
she has been more than a sister to me. I fear now I took
advantage of her wonderful goodness, her wise judgment, her
strict sense of justice, her unselfishness, and learned more and
more to consult her, who was the friend and helper of all who
stood in need of help. To me her loss is irreparable, and I
believe I am only one of a great many who went to her in times
of trouble.”
But this sorrowful experience was not the only grief of that year, for
Miss Chessar never left Brussels again, surviving Dr. Hodgson less than
a month. She had not been strong, but no one had in the least
anticipated anything serious, and this second blow, following so closely
on the first, greatly affected Miss Buss, who thus lost by one stroke
the two persons who were the greatest help and strength in her work.
Like herself, they were both teachers of remarkable power, and the three
friends had set themselves to raise the general standard of teaching,
while at the same time their sympathies in other directions cemented a
close friendship.
The force of this double loss is given very clearly in the replies from
Mrs. Grey and Miss Shirreff to letters from Miss Buss, these letters
themselves not being attainable—
“Meran,
“Sept. 20, 1880.
“MY DEAR MISS BUSS,
“It was only yesterday that we heard, from Miss Brough, of
the death of Miss Chessar, and I write in both our names to
express our deep and affectionate sympathy with you in this
second, and, I fear, even heavier loss, coming so soon after Dr.
Hodgson’s death. Our own sense of loss is very heavy; though we
knew her so little in private life, she had inspired us with
real and warm personal regard, besides admiration for her
remarkable powers. We are anxious that a fitting obituary notice
should appear in the _Journal_, if it is not already done, and
have written to Miss Brough to get it done. Will you help her to
do full justice to your common friend? And please, whenever you
have a moment’s leisure, let us hear how you are yourself.
“It grieves us to hear how your sorely needed holiday has been
turned into a day of sadness and mourning by these two deaths.
Dr. Hodgson’s must have been such a terrible shock, and from its
circumstances have brought upon you so much to try you, in
addition to the personal loss. We women have lost in him a
friend such as we shall not see again, and he was one of the few
left in this dull generation who could fight with wit as well as
earnestness, and had always a good story to clinch an argument.
“I cannot hear of all the good work going on without a pang at
being so unable to join in any of it, and all my idleness and
care of my useless self has not brought me any nearer, that I
can see or feel, towards ever joining in it again!... We go to
Florence and then to Rome, where I hope we shall see you in the
Christmas holidays. With love from us both, ever, dear Miss
Buss,
“Your affectionate
“MARIA G. GREY.”
In November, Mrs. Grey writes again—
“Your letter made us very sad. The loss of two such friends as
Dr. Hodgson and Miss Chessar coming upon you under such
circumstances, and so close together, was enough to break you
down utterly, but, as you do not mention your health, we trust
it did not suffer. We cannot help hoping that the distressing
effect will have worn away enough to let your old elasticity of
spirits and love of Rome restore you, and that we may yet have
the pleasure of welcoming you here at Christmas.”
Miss Buss had written to say that Rome was not possible for this year,
and in response Miss Shirreff speaks of one part of her letter—
“How true is what you say of the terrible void in one’s life
from the loss of early friends, but, believe me, dear Miss Buss,
later friendships may become very close and dear, and you are
far indeed from having overpast the age for making them. Those
to whom mental sympathy has always been the strong, if not the
strongest, link in friendship, have in this case a great
advantage over others, because, while we outlive other and
lighter needs of our nature, the need for mental companionship
never is lost, and this enjoyment can never cease to give, after
close affection, the truest zest to life. It is therefore never
too late to meet with it, though we become slower in discerning
it when it exists. But you have not reached that point, and with
the full vigour of mental faculty you are ready to seize the
full enjoyment of what responds to your own nature. In hours of
sorrow we are so apt to feel the burden of years that we
acquiesce too readily in the privations they seem to bring.
“I hope your quiet holiday-time spent with your old friend will
send you back strengthened and hopeful to your work. I cannot
express how much we feel your goodness in having added to it the
guidance of this new school (the Maria Grey Training School)
through its difficult early years. Mrs. Grey joins in love, and
says she will write another day.
“Ever affectionately yours,
“EMILY A. SHIRREFF.”
The visit to Mrs. Hodgson during the holidays did much to comfort them
both, and to strengthen the bond that never relaxed to the end. The very
latest pleasure of Miss Buss’ life, in the bright interval that preceded
the fatal illness, was a visit at Myra from this loved and loving
friend.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER V.
REST.
“One who never turned his back, but marched straightforward;
Never doubted clouds would break; Never deemed, though right
were worsted, wrong would triumph; Held we fall to rise, are
baffled to fight better, Sleep to wake!”
R. BROWNING.
Strangers might easily receive the impression that Miss Buss was one of
those happy persons who, being blessed with an iron constitution, do not
know what illness means. This was, however, very far from the fact; for
with a temperament so intensely sensitive, she was in reality one of the
women who can be as ill as they choose to be; and a good deal of her
apparent vigour lay in the strength of the will which elected _not_ to
be ill. “Great minds have wills, where feeble ones have wishes.” It was
just because she so well knew what could be done by self-control that
she exacted so much self-control from all around her. From experience
she knew how largely the body may be made the instrument of the spirit,
and for much of her time she kept going by sheer force of that
indomitable will.
It was because she carried this effort too far, in exacting from her
woman’s strength the work that might have contented several strong men,
that she grew old before her time, and finally broke down, paying the
price of overstrain for some years before the end came.
All that we can hear of her early life gives the impression of perfect
temper, of unfailing composure, of unbroken self-command. It is only in
later years, when her great work was completed, that we find the nervous
irritability that is the price paid for over-work, or, more truly, of
over-worry, since it is not work that kills, but worry.
So much did all around her rely on her strength and vigour that it is
with surprise we note the recurrence in her letters of such passages as
these, even so many years ago:—
“September, 1872.
“It is simply sickening to think of the crowds who come to me,
and I have been so ailing in health that I have only managed to
get along at all by sitting with Berlin woolwork in the evening,
going to no meetings, and getting to bed at ten o’clock. Also,
though to tell _you_ this is dreadful, I have got through this
week only on champagne twice a day, with doses of iron!
“The champagne has, I trust, done its work and set me up, so I
hope to go on without any more until next time! My throat has
been affected without intermission this term, and the sleepless
nights have almost driven me to opiates or to a doctor. But I
think I am better, and the holidays are coming near.
“This is the history of every term, however, and the question
will arise, how long such a strain can be borne? I do my best to
keep in health, but over-strained nature will have her way
sometimes. This is perhaps a new light on my inner life. But, my
dear Annie, remember _every one_ thinks I am a proper person on
whom to make claims....”
This inability to meet claims to which she would so gladly have given
full space was a very wearing part of the overcrowding of her life. Here
is a regret that she was compelled to seem to neglect a friend for whom
she would have done anything in her power:—
“Her letter pains me, in a sense, because I know how heavy is
the trial of waiting and doing nothing when there is the will to
work. If only I had some leisure I might go to her and _talk_
with her.
“But I can give nothing except to those who can come to me, and
not always, or even often, then. Do not say anything. As the
work goes on, we may see a way to keep her interested in, and
cognizant of, our part of it.
“I had no idea of how much she had cared for me in the past
days, and it is very touching to know it.”
“March, 1873.
“... I hope you have not been thinking harshly of me for not
answering your note or calling, but if you have, you must in
imagination take my place, which is at all times fit to be
occupied by ten ordinary women, but which, at the end of the
_school year_, with all the examinations and prizes, is large
enough for twenty.”
“December 9, 1873.
“I am going to bed now (eight o’clock), and hope to be better
for a night’s rest.
“Here I am again a prisoner in my room! A sore throat is the
main cause....
“But I am generally out of sorts. I am learning that I cannot do
as I used, and that body will dominate mind and will.
“I fear you are no better. You had my news? It seems to me quite
foolish for me to be ill and unable to do my work when the path
became suddenly clear, and all so quiet too!...
“Dearest Annie, my love to you. Lately I have often seemed to
want you, but I have never been so long and so completely broken
down—except there was organic disease, when I had fever—as I
have this term, and therefore unable to go to you.
“There is a lecture at the College of Preceptors to-morrow
night, on ‘English as a Means of Philological Instruction,’ by
Dr. Morris—the Morris. 7.30. Could you go? If so, could you join
me here a few minutes before seven? Only Miss Fawcett is going.
“I am better in myself, but cannot yet stand upright or walk
about. Patience is teaching me a great lesson, and I hope I am
learning it, in part, at least.
“... I really think there have never been so many petty worries
crowded together.
“It is all very well for men to say ‘never mind.’ However, what
is to be will be, and strength comes with the need.
“I am much better in health. Why, do you think? I went on
Saturday to my uncle’s perfectly quiet house, and out of the 48
hours slept 25!—2½ hours each afternoon, and 10 hours each
night.
“I am feeling so much better to-day—I slept _well_ last night.
But one of the distressing signs of over-work is disturbed and
light sleep, and my brain is so constantly at work in day-time
that I need deep sleep. So cause and effect act and react.
“My heart has been wrung too by Mr. Payne’s death. Life seems so
full of anguish as one gets older, that at times I seem to have
no power of being bright and cheerful.”
In addition to the regular work of the school, and all the claims of
outside work and of pupils and friends, there was a large amount of wear
and tear inevitable in any undertaking on so vast a scale. There was
also much that was painful connected with the success of the public
movement, so far as it affected small private schools or the work of
ordinary governesses, who all seemed to urge some moral claim to
compensation. It was impossible for the kind heart not to suffer even
when the clear head denied the validity of the cause of the suffering,
as in this letter in reference to one such case:—
“I wonder dear A. does not remember that when a man makes a new
invention, and thereby ruins many individuals, he is not
expected to compensate them.
“They suffer in the interests of the greater number, and, if
wise, direct their efforts towards working the new invention or
improving on it. This may seem cruel, but it is not so in the
end. There is no reason, human or divine, why A. B. C., etc.,
should put aside a direct benefit to themselves and others in
order to prevent Z. from turning his attention to some other
field of work than that he already occupies. It is certain that
three hundred girls in one school want as much teaching as
thirty girls in ten schools—only they want different teaching.
“Moral—the big school displaces labour, but does not crush it.”
In the mere fact of success itself there was trial enough in many ways.
The intensity of her feeling might be sometimes out of due proportion to
the cause of suffering, but none the less did she suffer acutely. At the
time of greatest triumph—the opening of the new schools in 1879—there
chanced to be one example which gave rise to an outbreak of indignation
on her part, letting us see how much had hitherto been hidden even from
her friends. Of this incident she writes—
“It is of no use to try to please people! I do not mean to try.
I will do what seems to me right, and then learn to be content
to be abused, if _I can!_ What with every one’s ‘claims,’ and
with people’s ‘rights’ to a seat, always the best!—friends,
family, parents, old pupils, etc., it is all the same! Every one
is dissatisfied, do what one will; some one else is preferred,
some one is neglected.... And so the stings go on, till I nearly
break down under the wounds they inflict. When barely able to
get about again through the work, I hear of my neglect, etc., of
one to whom, in my heart of hearts, it never occurred to me as
possible that any one could accuse me of ingratitude.
“Pray forgive me, dear Annie, but you can never know the bitter
price one pays for success. I think it as heavy as that of
failure! This has stirred up a depth of scorn and anger of which
I feel ashamed, though I feel almost ashamed, too, of the race
of beings to which I belong.
“I do not know whether it will do any good to have it out, so to
speak, with you. I fear perhaps it will worry you. But as I have
written it, it shall go, and I hope you and I shall meet next
Saturday, when the keenness of the stroke has passed. I do not,
however, think that just now I can write to our friends. I
should not wish to pain them, so silence will be my best refuge.
Do not please say anything. I will fight my fight out with
myself alone.
“God’s law of compensation comes in; He will neither suffer one
to be unduly elated nor depressed.
“It is part of our discipline in life that we should constantly
fail, and I earnestly hope that I may be permitted to try and
try again.
“But the old days have gone, and it would be better as well as
easier for me for no visitors to be allowed to enter except the
few on the platform and the mothers of girls taking prizes _high
in the school_.
“Trying to please every one, and to recognize his or her rights,
is not of the least use. Like the miller in the fable, one only
succeeds in pleasing no one.
“There is so much to be grateful and thankful for that I am
really ashamed of myself for feeling vexed. I have not told you
half the vexations to which people subject me, certainly not
because I ignore them, but because by trying to please it seems
impossible to succeed.”
Earlier in this “year of triumph” there is a pathetic little note to her
sister, showing how much stronger was the “domestic” than the public
woman in her—
“February 18, 1879.
“DEAREST LITTLE MOTHER,
“Don’t be unhappy, but you did not think how much I miss
your loving little hug and petting.
“No one pets me but you, and occasionally Mrs. Bryant. Darling
boy allows me graciously to pet him, but he does not make
advances to me.
“I want you sometimes, if only to look at!
“Where are we to go at Easter? I was thinking of Hastings. Let
me know.
“Your very loving old
“ARNIE.”
It is not necessary to say that no change really took place in Miss
Buss’ endeavours to respond to even the most unreasonable of demands.
When she met me at Ben Rhydding soon afterwards, she was just as sweet
and bright as ever, and her nerves rapidly recovered tone again. This
power of recuperation after even the severest strain was always
remarkable, even to the very last. We had a striking proof of it in the
spring of 1893, when Miss Buss joined my sister and me at Bordighera. We
had tried to get her to take the complete rest of a whole winter abroad
after her illness in the autumn before, holding out the attractions of
Florence, Siena, and the Italian lakes. Every one wanted her to give up
work for a time, and take the chance of real recovery. Our efforts were
all wasted, and all she would do was to come, with her cousin, Miss Mary
Buss, and a friend, late in the spring, stopping at various points in
the Riviera on the way. She was far from well on her arrival, but a
drive to San Remo in an open carriage on a windy day gave her a chill,
followed by the inevitable attack of influenza. There was also a passing
giddiness which gave us anxiety. She was certainly very ill for five
days, with a threatening of pneumonia. But, thanks to her power of
sleeping day and night, the attack passed off as rapidly as it had come
on, when nothing we could say could persuade her that there had been
ground for alarm; an opinion she maintained in the face of the most
authoritative medical support of our view. On the Sunday she had
certainly been very ill, but on Tuesday she would have been downstairs
if we had not made too strong a protest. On Thursday, however, she
insisted on starting for England, and accomplished the journey to London
without a break, and apparently with no ill consequences.
She had already suffered from frequent attacks of influenza of a more or
less serious character, leaving behind them more and more weakness. The
first attack dated from the winter of 1889–90, when we were all in Rome
together. I had suffered from what seemed a sudden sharp cold, but was
nearly well when Miss Buss and her party arrived in Rome on Christmas
Eve. Christmas Day was very wet, and as my room was large and airy all
assembled there for afternoon tea and talk, Miss Buss being full of fun
and interest. But after a few days she and several others developed the
same kind of cold, which, even then, we never identified with the
mysterious disease of which every one heard so much that year. But for
us both it proved the beginning of a series of attacks extending through
the next four years. More than once when she was at the worst, I was too
ill even to be told of it till the danger had passed. This was the case
in the autumn of 1893, and I had been suffering during the summer, and
able to see her only when she came to visit me.
It was during this summer that she finally moved from Myra Lodge to No.
87, next door, leaving the boarders with Miss Edwards. The door of
communication was still left, that Miss Buss might see her friends and
the girls when she felt able. She had her own companion, Miss Newman,
and, later, Miss Millner; but Miss Edwards, having been so many years
with her, still went often to see her. There seemed every prospect of
years of rest and ease, amid a circle which could profit by her
experience and wisdom.
There were all the inevitable delays, in getting into the new house,
even though the workmen worked with all their hearts for an employer who
took very special care of their creature comforts, and made them wish
“for more like her.” She was not accustomed to summer in London, and the
consequence of it all was the very serious attack, already mentioned, in
the autumn. She recovered, however, with something of the rapidity of
the experience in the spring, and was able to go to Bournemouth, and
afterwards to spend Christmas at her cottage at Epping.
When my sister and I returned from Italy, in May, 1894, we were very
much grieved to see the change in our friend. She looked many years
older, and was quite unfit for any sort of exertion. It was surprising
how easily she accepted the changed conditions, and, after her life of
so much activity, was quite content to be amused, finding special
pleasure in Miss Millner’s lovely little Persian kitten. It was very
touching to see her intense amusement in her subjection to her new
medical attendant, Dr. Cobbett, the successor to her old friend Dr.
Evershed. She even seemed to find a lively satisfaction in the discovery
of a will which could dominate her own.
There was one bright spot in this summer, in a visit to “The Haven,”
near Hythe, the pleasant home of her friend Mrs. Pierson, from which she
returned so well that she went to the Norfolk coast with Miss Millner
and Mr. and Mrs. W. K. Hill. But the weather was cold, and Mr. and Mrs.
Septimus Buss, who joined her at Overstrand, were thankful to get her
safely home again.
The change in our dear friend, with the manifest certainty that she must
soon retire from her work, had made me look out her old letters, and
begin to arrange the material she had prepared for the long-talked-of
story of the school, which I wished to have ready when the day of
retirement should come. On my last visit to her, early in November, she
was so much stronger that she talked in quite the old way, telling me
that she intended to amuse herself by dictating her reminiscences to a
shorthand writer. I then told her what I had been doing, and she became
quite eager that we should do it together. On November 12th I had a note
fixing the next day for the first of these meetings. I was unfortunately
prevented from going, thus losing that last precious evening of her
active life—a lasting regret.
Early the next day the fatal illness began with an attack of
unconsciousness. In a letter from the Rev. Alfred J. Buss, he says—
“Though my sister had been in ill health for a long time, she
had rallied so often that much hope still remained. She had been
at the school several times during last term, and attended a
meeting of ‘old pupils.’ This last may have been too much for
her. She had an attack from which she was unable to rally. There
had been a consultation a few days before, and the medical men
saw no reason why she should not then be better—and allowed me
to inform the governors so—though she would still be liable to
relapses. So that the end came unexpectedly.”
She had recovered from several similar attacks, and had latterly seemed
so much stronger that there had been every reason for hope during the
periods of consciousness that came from time to time, although a new
symptom had appeared in the extreme restlessness that alternated with
the lethargy.
For six weeks hope came and went, everything being done that love could
devise or devotion carry out. In addition to the two constant
companions, there were two trained nurses: and the dear patient, in the
quiet intervals, was her sweetest self; so careful about giving trouble,
and so courteous in her acknowledgment of service rendered, so grieved
that the nurses should be kept up at night, and so anxious that Miss
Millner and Miss Edwards should know how much she felt their kind
attention.
Miss Edwards gives some interesting details of these last months after
the return home from this last holiday, when, after a few weeks of care
and nursing, she had seemed better than at any time during the year:—
“Three weeks of peaceful, quiet enjoyment followed this illness,
during which Miss Buss received many of her friends at her own
house, and was further made happy by a visit from her old and
intimate friend, Mrs. Hodgson, who has since written: ‘I am very
thankful that I had such a sweet, happy time with my friend
before the last illness came, and when she could in a measure
enjoy life.’
“During this period of improved health Miss Buss paid her last
three visits to the school she loved so dearly, visits that will
not soon be forgotten by those who then saw her. On October 31st
she was present in the evening at the ‘old pupils’’ meeting, and
on November 2nd, during part of the school concert, and, with
her usual sympathetic thought of others, sent on each occasion
for several of the music teachers and others of the staff to sit
by her in turn and exchange a few words.
“The last occasion on which our dear head-mistress was at
Sandall Road was on November 7th, when she distributed the
holiday prizes, making kindly inquiries, as each girl whom she
knew came before her, for parents and brothers and sisters at
home, and taking special notice of the little ones, for whom she
had brought a large packet of sweets.
“Before this illness came on she had with her own hands arranged
all her Christmas gifts and ordered her Christmas cards,
received by many of her friends on that sad Christmas Day. There
were also some packets addressed by herself of mementoes to
friends, all the more precious for this evidence of thoughtful
foresight.
“On Saturday, November 10th, friends came to lunch, and Miss
Buss was well enough to enjoy their society, and show particular
interest in the children, finding games and other amusement for
them.
“On this day also she had a visit from an old pupil—and
colleague—who brought her little baby-girl, asking permission to
call her _Frances Mary_, a request which greatly touched Miss
Buss. Constantly during her illness she spoke of her ‘little
namesake baby,’ who once, at the dear invalid’s special wish,
was brought to see her.
“On November 11th Miss Buss attended the short morning service
at the church of St. Mary the Virgin, almost next door to Myra
Lodge.
“On Monday evening she was able to be with the girls at No. 89,
enjoying, as she always did, to see them happy in playing games.
“The next day two old pupils took tea with her, and for the
Wednesday a luncheon-party of some of the clergy and workers of
Holy Trinity had been arranged. But this, by the doctor’s
orders, had to be postponed.”
On the Thursday before the end there was a return of consciousness for
some hours, with full recognition of her nephew, the Rev. Charles Caron
Buss, the “Charlie boy” of olden days, whom she now questioned tenderly
about his little curly-headed Kenneth, her latest delight. She also
recognized and talked with Mrs. Alfred Buss. Then came her “own boy,”
the Rev. Francis F. Buss, and she was able to follow the Service for the
Visitation of the Sick, and to join once more in the _Veni Creator_, and
then, for the last time, in the words of the Collect, so often on her
lips, to seek from the “Fountain of all Wisdom those things which for
our unworthiness we dare not, and for our blindness we cannot, ask”—a
prayer so meet for one who had walked from earliest days so humbly with
her God—a prayer so soon to be answered by the revelation of “the things
prepared for them that love.”
With this last self-surrender she let go her hold on earth, sinking
again into a state of coma that grew deeper and deeper till it merged
into the sleep of death. It lasted for three whole days longer, during
which her family and a few intimate friends were unremitting in their
visits, though there was nothing to be done but take a sad look at the
dear face, and go away with the terrible sense of change, as they
thought of that still form, those closed eyes, those unanswering lips
from which came now only that slow laboured breathing, and remembered
their friend as they had always known her before, so alert, so alive to
every touch, so quick of response to the faintest appeal. The only break
in this long stillness came in the hymns which from time to time were
sung softly by the watchers at the bedside, in the hope that those
familiar sounds might penetrate, beneath the silence.
All Sunday night the family remained in expectation—almost in hope—of
the release which seemed so near, waiting as they that watch for the
morning. Christmas Eve dawned, and, as the day advanced to high noon,
the heavy breathing grew more and more quiet, till at length came
perfect peace, and the watchers knew that their beloved had passed from
death to life.
“For fifty years with dauntless heart
Step after step she won her way,
Through times of cloud, and barren praise,
Up to the well-earned golden days
Of proud success, and prouder fame;
Where no high thought of self had part,
No poor ambition of display,
To dim the lustre of her name.
“So, far and wide, o’er mead and lea,
Was sown the seed; and many a waste
Broke into blossom; fields grew white
To harvest that she lived to see,
Though not the fuller fruit to taste
(Which ages yet to come shall reap)
Ere fell the shadow of the night,
And, dauntless still, she sank to sleep.
“To busy hands and weary brain
Thus comes at last the dawn of peace,
Rest after noble toil, in light
Beyond the shadows, infinite;
Yea, life in Him who once again
By death for ever lives: release
From bonds to freedom. None may tell
Her bliss, but surely ‘SHE SLEEPS WELL.’”
(Rev. B. G. JOHNS.)
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER VI.
“AND HER WORKS DO FOLLOW HER.”
“Give her of the fruit of her hands: and let her own works
praise her in the gates.”—Prov. xxxi. 31.
“Of feeble knees the strengthener,
The stay of timid hearts,
Does all her might go out with her
Who now to rest departs?
Nay, for the children of her love,
To their full stature grown,
Must learn amid their tears to prove
How they can go alone.”
EMILY HICKEY.
Fifty years of work! Of work that, had she been other than she was,
might have been mere thankless drudgery; of work that, being what she
was, remains a living influence, spreading, in ever-widening circles, to
distances beyond compute. Fifty years of love, poured out from a heart
often disappointed, but never embittered; often left unfilled, but never
found empty; often strained to utmost tension, but never relaxing its
high energy. Being as she was, refreshed by the living water, sustained
by the bread of life, the strength was hers that knows neither drought
nor famine.
For more than forty years she had worshipped in the same church—Holy
Trinity—built by her friend the Rev. David Laing, and afterwards held by
her friends, the Rev. E. Spooner, the Rev. Charles Lee, and Dr. Cutts.
To this altar she came, through all her working time, to renew the
strength in which her work was done as “Christ’s faithful soldier and
servant to her life’s end.” And here, when that end came, the last
gleams of the dying year fell on the white blossoms that hid all that
was mortal of that brave spirit, while the vast crowd knelt to give
thanks for a life which had made all life so much the more worth living
to themselves and to all women who should come after them.
“The good die never!” There can be no end to this high influence that
for the half-century past has gone out, carrying with it all that is
true, all that is pure, all that is lovely. It must still go on in the
centuries to come in added power, since
“Good, the more
Communicated, more abundant grows.”
And yet, do we not too sadly feel that the end has come for us, who will
not again, while we tarry here, look on that kind face, or feel the
clasp of that hand that seemed strength itself? We rejoice in the joy of
her immortality—here and hereafter—but for us, here and now, there is
the suffering of this present time, which is “_not_ joyous, but
grievous.”
How much she did! She worked till the last; till those magnificent
energies, which seemed inexhaustible, were at length worn out.
She “died in harness,” and we must not grudge her what she would have
chosen. But yet, how we wish it might have been otherwise! That she
might have rested in time, to have saved herself to be with us a little
longer, an inspiration and strength to all; “a great moral force in the
educational world;” an example to all teachers, as well as to her own
staff and her own pupils; a joy to the friends who loved her; and to her
own nearest and dearest——? But here we pause and are silent before her
brother’s words: “I cannot speak of what she was—and what her memory
will be—to her nearer relatives, and especially to us, her brothers.”
The details of the service in Holy Trinity and the concluding ceremony
in the quiet churchyard at Theydon Bois, near her cottage at Epping, on
the edge of the Forest, are given by eye-witnesses, happy in being
permitted to be there to see and hear for themselves.
Never, it seemed to me then, could physical disability have pressed more
heavily than during that week—from Christmas Eve to New Year’s Eve—when,
although no farther distant than St. Leonard’s, I had to submit to be
absent, while so many friends were doing honour to her whom we all loved
and mourned.
The events of the three days, so full of emotion, could not be better
told than as they are given in the “Memorials” compiled in the beginning
of the year, by her old pupils—afterwards colleagues—Miss Edith Aitken,
Mrs. W. K. Hill (Eleanor M. Childs), and Miss Sara A. Burstall, who
record the scenes at Holy Trinity, at Theydon Bois, and on the first day
of the re-opening of the schools.
THROUGH THE GRAVE AND GATE OF DEATH.
“It is the will of God that even to the most vigorous and
faithful of His servants there shall come, sooner or later,
weakness and decay of strength. There is nothing more simply
sorrowful than this, and yet it is an integral part of the
providence of the world. To the most fortunate and gifted life,
full of great opportunities, to which the character and
personality were equal, to a life blessed with health and power
and love and success and a large measure of happiness, even to
such a life comes old age, with its train of disappointment and
feebleness. It is true that the waning of a noble life is often
marked by a sweetening and mellowing of character, which is in
itself a triumph and a glory; but still the growing earthly
feebleness cannot be forgotten, and it is a sad thing to watch
the face change, and to hear the voice ever weaker and the step
ever feebler, and to know that strength is gone and will come
back no more in this life. The grasshopper has become a burden;
the night is at hand.
“During the last year we have shared in such growing sorrow, as
we have watched the struggle of an eager and hopeful spirit
against increasing physical pain and weakness. We have hoped
against hope, for the spirit was still so willing, but the
foreboding was always there, and in the last dark days of the
old year the end came, irrevocably and, as it seemed, almost
suddenly. No more alternations, no more struggles; all was over.
“What an oppression of loss and pain seemed to brood over us as
we waited through that dark winter’s morning in the dim church
full of mourning figures! Crowds of people witnessed to the
wide-reaching influence of the life of which we were thinking.
The solemn dignity of the occasion, as we caught a glimpse of
one and then of another who had come, each from his or her
important place and work, to take a part in this last ceremony
of respect, recalled the importance of the life-work now over.
Especially did the sight of such a veteran of the struggle as
Miss Emily Davies bring to mind touching memories of the fight
for an ideal waged in the beginning against great odds. Such had
been this our leader—an important force in the world, a mind of
originating insight, who had modified her age for good. But now
all was over. We had had the privilege of being with her, but we
should have it no more. Our lives for the future were to be
poorer and smaller.
“The tolling bell seemed to beat out such thoughts as we waited.
But these more general regrets are changed to the acuter stab of
personal grief, as the coffin is carried in and passes us close.
It is to this that the loved presence has come, and even this is
for the last time. A hundred personal details come back—her
dress, her favourite colours, her smile, the sound of her voice.
Thus and thus we knew her—and shall know her no more.
“‘The best is yet to be.’ We believe it, but we loved her as she
was.
“It is hard to control our voices, but we are still her army. It
behoves us to show that we can respond to the word of command,
and so we take our part in the service, and all goes on in its
appointed order to the end. The coffin is carried out, and we
disperse on our further journey, sad and dreary, down to Theydon
Bois. Our minds are filled by thoughts of the past and of the
future. To many of us the best part of our lives is associated
with her. To how many has she not been a generous and inspiring
friend, who brought out all our best by her very belief in it?
How are we to go on without her? And how drearily ashamed we
feel of our worst, which we can never now amend before her.
“It pleased God to let our final farewell be very beautiful. The
churchyard at Theydon lies on the slope of a hill, and the grave
is at the northern side of the low, red brick, country church.
The short winter day was drawing to its close already, and the
western sky was glowing with glorious red and gold. The
procession was marshalled in the road below, and the white-robed
clergy came down to meet us from out of the sunset light, as it
seemed. Our hymns of rest and triumph felt right and fitting
then, as we thought of her and not of ourselves. She had fought
a good fight, and had finished her course. The country fields
lay bare about us, and the branches of the trees, interlacing
themselves between us and the evening sky, were leafless. But
everything was touched with a most tender and beautiful light,
as large, soft snow-flakes floated gently down on the violets
and white spring flowers with which we covered her. And so we
left her.”
“‘The souls of the righteous are in the hand of God, and there
shall no torment touch them;
In the sight of the unwise they seemed to die, and their
departure is taken for misery,
And their going from us to be utter destruction. But they are
in peace,
For though they be punished in the sight of men, yet is their
hope full of immortality.’”
EDITH AITKEN.
THE FUNERAL SERVICE.
“On the last day of the old year Holy Trinity Church, Kentish
Town, was filled to overflowing with those who had met to pay
their last tribute to her who had passed away from among us. The
greater number of the mourners consisted, as was natural, of
past and present pupils of the North London Collegiate and
Camden Schools, but in addition there were representatives of
all branches of education in the widest sense of the word. Among
these we may mention Rev. T. W. Sharpe (H.M. Chief Inspector of
Schools), Professor Hales (King’s College), Prebendary
Whittington, Rev. Brooke Lambert, Rev. H. L. Paget, General
Moberly (Vice-Chairman of the London School Board), Mr. Latham,
Q.C. (representing the Clothworkers’ Company), Mr. Alfred Bevan
(representing the Brewers’ Company), Mr. Elliott and Mr. Danson
(Governors), Mr. Storr (Merchant Taylors’ School), Mr. Hinton
(Haberdashers’ School, Hoxton), Dr. Evershed, Dr. J. Collins,
Mr. Percy Bunting, Mr. Courthope Bowen, Mr. W. C. Bell
(Treasurer of the Cambridge Training College), Miss Agnes Ward,
Miss Hadland, Mrs. W. Burbury (Governor), Miss Prance
(Governor), Miss Day (Greycoat School), Miss Andrews (Maida Vale
High School), Miss Armstrong (Dame Alice Owen School), Miss
Penrose (Bedford College), the Misses Metcalfe (Hendon), Miss
Huckwell (Leamington), Miss Green (Blackburn) and Mrs. Mary
Davies.
“Long before the time appointed for the service—10 a.m.—every
seat in the church, which is said to hold about two thousand,
was filled, while many people were standing in the aisles. As
the coffin was brought in at the south door, the door by which
Miss Buss had entered Sunday after Sunday from the time the
church was built, the whole congregation rose to its feet, and
remained standing until the mournful procession reached the
chancel. It was impossible, even then, to realize that we should
never again on earth see that familiar face, never again hear
the kindly words that so often cheered and encouraged us in our
darkest hours, making us feel that, after all, life was worth
living, and that each one of us had her special work to do.
“All the arrangements had been most carefully planned before.
The chancel, with the seats behind, was reserved for the family
and immediate mourners, Governors of the Schools and
representatives sat in the front seats, teachers and present
pupils of the North London, all of whom carried white flowers,
in the body of the church. The west gallery was appropriated to
the Camden School, while the rest of the gallery and the side
aisles were filled with old pupils and friends. The pall-bearers
were:—
Professor HILL.
(Of University College, London.)
Dr. GARNETT.
(Educational Adviser of the Technical Education Committee of the
London County Council.)
Mrs. BRYANT.
(Vice-Mistress of the North London Collegiate School.)
Miss LAWFORD.
(Head-Mistress of the Camden School.)
Miss HUGHES.
(Head of the Cambridge Training College.)
Miss JONES.
(Head-Mistress of Notting Hill High School and President of the
Head Mistresses’ Association.)
Miss EMILY DAVIES.
(One of the Founders of Girton College.)
Miss BEALE.
(Head of the Ladies’ College, Cheltenham.)
Dr. WORMELL.
(Head-Master of the Central Foundation Schools, Cowper Street,
representing the College of Preceptors.)
Dr. FITCH.
(Member of the Senate of the University of London, representing
the Teachers’ Guild.)
“Mrs. Green was at the organ, and the girls’ choir led the
singing, which consisted of Psalm xxxix., the ‘Nunc Dimittis,’
and the hymns ‘The saints of God, their conflict passed,’
‘Peace, perfect peace, in this dark world of sin,’ and ‘Now the
labourer’s task is o’er.’
“After the service, which was conducted by the Vicar (the Rev.
Dr. Cutts), Canon Browne, whose work in connection with the
Cambridge Local Examinations brought him for so many years into
such close contact with Miss Buss, delivered an address from the
chancel steps. He said the last rites were often performed over
those who were too young to have shown promise; over those who
had shown promise, and were cut off, as it seemed, prematurely;
over those who had lived longer, and had had no aim, done no
work in life; over those who had had noble aims, and had been
disappointed, or who, having seen the fulfilment of their aims,
had outlived their friends, and died silent and alone. How
exactly the opposite of all this was the record of Frances Mary
Buss! She had great aims, she had seen a noble work perfectly
done, she was surrounded to the last by affectionate friends. It
was not too much to say that she was one of the most prominent
actors in that which had changed the face of a large area of
human life. There were many present who had played a large part
in it, but he could not name the living. Miss Anne Clough and
Miss Buss were, of those who had passed away, those who had
developed the best of woman’s nature, the latent power and charm
of that intellect which was so subtle in its intuition and so
swift in its spring. Miss Buss had reduced the wear and tear of
effort by the improvement of method, and had changed that which
had been dull and flat and painful into brightness and interest.
Thousands of girls’ lives had been made happier, hundreds of
women were now doing congenial woman’s work through her means.
It was difficult to believe that it had all grown from nothing
in thirty years. It was not with her as with many—that others
had laboured, and she had entered into their labours; she was
herself the pioneer, and herself had crowned the work. It had
not been done from policy; it had all come from love and
sympathy, combined with that practical intuition which always
lays its finger on the important point. Now her task was o’er,
that faithful labourer, under whom a wilderness had grown into a
garden, the garden had blossomed into flowers so fair, had borne
fruit so sweet. It was the last day of the year, the eve of a
New Year. The Church’s lessons brought before them that
beautiful chapter of the Revelation which described the new
heavens and the new earth. Miss Buss’ quiet and decided
religious character enabled them to enter without hesitation on
that branch of thought. Her religious character shone naturally
throughout her educational work. They read of the garnishing of
heaven with precious stones of various hues and many names, not
there because of this hue or that, of this characteristic or the
other, but because they were precious stones. In all reverent
faith they followed in imagination the placing of their friend,
now lost here, among the precious stones in heaven, and they
might pray that of themselves it might be true that she was but
gone before.
“The second part of the service was performed in the little
churchyard of Theydon Bois, near ‘Boscombe.’ The journey seemed
to be made doubly sad by the remembrance of the many delightful
holidays we had spent at ‘The Cottage,’ and by all its
associations; and yet we felt that we would rather she were laid
to rest there, in the open country, than in a crowded London
cemetery. ‘After life’s fitful fever she sleeps well.’
“The day was piercingly cold, in spite of the bright sunshine,
and the ground was covered with snow. About six hundred went
down to Theydon Bois by a special train, and the long procession
was formed at the foot of the hill on which the church stands.
Mr. Garrod, Secretary of the Teachers’ Guild, Mr. Foster Watson,
Master of Method at Aberystwith College, Mr. Pinches, Treasurer
of the College of Preceptors, and Mr. W. K. Hill, Head-Master of
the Kentish Town School, acted as marshals. At two o’clock, the
hearse and carriages with the chief mourners reached the spot,
and the long train of mourners, headed by the clergy, the Rev.
C. E. Campbell, Vicar of Theydon Bois, Canon Barker, and Canon
Browne, moved slowly up the hill. Immediately behind the clergy
came the girls’ choir, singing ‘How bright the glorious spirits
shine.’ The voices, subdued as they were, owing to the great
length of the procession, had—if one may so express it—a
wonderfully spiritual effect. The churchyard was quite filled
with the mourners, and after the actual service was finished,
Canon Barker delivered a short address to those assembled round
the open grave on the life-work and lessons taught by Miss Buss,
whose name, he said, would be connected with the commencement of
the higher education of women for many years to come. He dwelt
on the zeal and ability displayed by the deceased in founding
the great school in Camden Town, and the most important
educational testimony she had given before the Schools
Commission. Miss Buss also established the Head-mistresses’
Association and the Teachers’ Guild, and her schools were the
models of those of the Girls’ Public Day School Company. The
effect and success of her work was seen at Girton and Newnham
Colleges, and at the London University, and he mentioned the
fact that at one time at least two-thirds of the girls at Girton
were from Miss Buss’ own school. The chief point in regard to
her character was her remarkable personality and indomitable
strength. Her simplicity and singleness of heart were without a
taint of personal ambition. He dilated on her great power of
assimilating new ideas, and said the influence of her will was
extraordinary. Her name would live for years, and the women not
only of this country, but of every other, owed her a debt of
gratitude for the noble work she had accomplished. He touched
upon her deep religious character, manifested so clearly in her
quiet advice and consolation to the girls who came to her in any
worry or trouble, and finally he said it was a blessing to any
one to be able to see, as Miss Buss had done, her life’s work
crowned with success before she departed.
“In compliance with the expressed wish of the family,
comparatively few wreaths were sent, but these were quite as
many as could well be dealt with. In addition to those from
members of the family, the teachers of the North London
Collegiate School sent a wreath of laurel, the Camden School
teachers a wreath, Miss Ridley (a Governor of the school from
its early days) and Miss J. T. Ridley a wreath, Myra Lodge an
anchor of violets, while the pupils festooned and decorated the
hearse. Most of those present carried flowers, which they threw
into the ivy-lined grave.
“For the greater part of the service large flakes of snow had
been slowly falling. The day will ever remain in our hearts.
Though one of deep sadness, yet there was withal a feeling of
gratitude that we, too, had known her, and of pride that we were
Miss Buss’ girls.
“ELEANOR M. HILL.”
It is impossible to do more than merely indicate the feeling caused by
the death of Frances Mary Buss, as evidenced in the piles of letters
addressed to her family, and to Mrs. Bryant and members of the staff, by
leaders in the educational world, as well as by pupils, past and
present, and by friends from every part of the globe. The extracts
already given will serve to represent this deep and widespread sense of
loss, and to show in how many hearts her memory will live on.
Of outward and visible memorials there are several still in progress.
One only is as yet completed, a window given by relatives and friends to
Holy Trinity Church, where, on October 3, a special dedicatory service
was held. The subject is St. Scholastica, the devoted sister of St.
Benedict who founded Monte Cassino, the first monastery of the Western
Church. St. Scholastica is said to have helped largely in the revival of
religion and learning that marked the sixth century. She became the Head
of the first community of nuns, and it is in this character that she is
represented in the upper part of the window. In the lower part she is
seated, with one of her young novices at her knee, in keeping with her
name, and with the work of the great teacher thus commemorated, whose
likeness is plainly recognizable in the features of the saint. Above the
head of the upper figure runs a scroll with the words, “I know thy
works, and charity, and service, and faith” (Rev. ii. 19). The
inscription below is, “In loving memory of Frances Mary Buss, for
forty-five years a communicant of this Church.”
The memorial window in the Clothworkers’ Hall, Sandall Road, which is to
be the gift of the Company, is still in progress. The design represents
four typical women from sacred history, all peculiarly appropriate—
I. Deborah, “a mother in Israel” (Judg. v. 7).
II. Huldah, “the prophetess,” with whom “many communed” (2 Kings
xxii. 14).
III. Mary, who “chose the better part” (Luke x. 42).
IV. Phœbe, “a servant of the Church, and a succourer of many”
(Rom. xvi. 1).
A portrait is introduced into the design.
In the Camden School there is to be a marble bust, the gift of the same
generous donors, who have already done so much to beautify the schools.
But the memorial which would most have pleased her whose name it will
bear is in the Travelling Scholarships, to which the public
subscriptions are to be devoted. In keeping with the large-heartedness
which knew no bounds, the benefit of these Scholarships will not be
confined to the two schools of which she was the founder. It is hoped
that many a worn and jaded teacher may thus derive from foreign travel
the rest and refreshment which so often sent Miss Buss herself back to
work with renewed vigour; and it can scarcely be doubted that in extent
these Scholarships will prove worthy of one who so largely gave to
others.
The account given by Miss Burstall of the re-opening of the school after
the great change that had come upon it is full of interest—
“The opening of school on the first day of term was a strange,
but inspiring and impressive, ceremony, which none of those
present are likely to forget. The dark ranks of the girls, as
they stood for prayers, the black dresses of the teachers, the
laurel wreath hung above our dear Founder’s portrait, the empty
great chair, which would never be filled again by her we had
seen there so often—all told the story which the funeral
hymns[21] sung before and after prayers reiterated. When the
short, very short, service was concluded, the Rev. A. J. Buss
came forward, and first, on behalf of the family, thanked the
staff for their work (a very labour of love indeed) in
organizing the funeral arrangements, and the girls for their
singing on the sad occasion. He then, as Clerk to the Governors,
went on to say that the Governors had been unable, owing to the
shortness of the time that had elapsed, to make any final
arrangement, but that they had asked Mrs. Bryant to take the
post of _acting_ Head-mistress during the term.
“Mrs. Bryant, after saying a few words in response to Mr. Buss,
gave a short address, expressing (as she said) the thoughts and
memories that rose to the surface in trying to realize the
greatness of the leader who had passed from among us. Sympathy,
absolute devotion of self, extraordinary energy of will,
marvellous charity—these one thought of as they had been shown
year after year in counsel, in delight in other’s pleasures, in
carrying ideas into action, in patience and help to inferior
workers, in honour and appreciation to talent, in raising the
weak, in strengthening the strong.
“The thrill of emotion, of loyalty, of sorrow, and of hope,
which passed through the hearts of so many of us as she spoke,
is too personal, too sacred for expression. It was a relief when
music, that divine art which begins where words end, came to
speak regret and aspiration, as the solemn chords of the Dead
March in ‘Saul’ flowed from the organ. Just at this moment, a
little after 9.30 a.m., a winter thunderstorm rolled up. The
light grew fainter, the wind sounded round the building; still
the music pealed on as the darkness gathered, rising stronger
and fuller in its confidence of triumph over death, when, just
at the climax of the melody, a flash of lightning blazed for an
instant like an answering fire from the heavenly world. It was a
strange coincidence, but it was not the first time that Nature
had seemed to sympathize with our grief and with our
consolation. The flowers and the winter sunshine of New Year’s
Eve, the softly-falling benediction of the snow in the
churchyard at Theydon—these had their meaning. So, too, had the
symbol of power, of energy, of light in darkness, when the New
Year began with its new work and its new, yet old, inspiration.”
Footnote 21:
“The saints of God, their conflict passed,” and “Peace, perfect
peace.”
The music ceased, and all stood for a moment in silence, till, as Miss
Fawcett tells us—
“Mrs. Bryant said very quietly, ‘The classes will now pass to
their own rooms as usual!’ and, as we obeyed, the clouds cleared
away, and the place was soon flooded with brilliant sunshine.
‘Le roi est mort: vive le roi!’ was the thought in all minds.
But our new Head had taken her stand on the old order of things,
and there is sweetness in our sadness.”
Owing to some technicalities which could not be set aside, the post of
Head-mistress was still not filled officially either on the Foundation
Day or Prize Day, June 27, 1895, and these may therefore be counted as
the last days of the old _régime_, the beloved Founder still holding
supreme rule, through the self-effacing loyalty with which her successor
did honour to the cherished memory.[22]
Footnote 22:
In a paper found in Miss Buss’ desk there is gratifying proof of the
satisfaction it would have given her to know of the choice of her
successor—
“I know Mrs. Bryant well, and think her the most competent woman in
the whole range of my acquaintance to take up my work after me. She is
bright, accomplished, energetic, and earnest. She is amiable and
loving, and, above all, has _vital force_. She has, indeed, ‘a healthy
mind in a healthy body.’ Pages of writing could not express more
strongly my conviction that she is the one woman who would and could
carry on the school in the same spirit as it is carried on now. Her
fellow-workers would also be loyal to her, and she would be
considerate about them.
(Signed) “FRANCES MARY BUSS.
“Myra Lodge, Feb. 3, 1878.”
On Foundation Day (April 4)—henceforth to be known as Founder’s Day—the
sense of loss was manifest in the black dresses of the staff, and in the
absence of the usual daffodils with which the Hall had been gay in past
times. The needlework was shown as usual, but in place of the
entertainment of other years, there was an organ recital, followed by a
selection of sacred music, ending with the hymn, so deeply impressive to
all there, “The saints of God, their conflict passed.”
On the Prize Day (June 27) there was a special appropriateness in the
fact that in Professor Jebb of Cambridge, who occupied the chair, there
should have been so distinguished a representative of the University
which had been so much to one who had laboured to open for others the
way thither which she could not herself follow.
In the presence of Lady Frederick Cavendish, who gave the prizes on this
last day, there was also a very special fitness, not only as a very
active member of the Council of the Girls’ Public Day Schools Company—a
work made possible in the beginning by Miss Buss’ success in her
schools—but still more as the daughter of Lord Lyttelton, one of the
earliest friends to the higher education of girls in general, and, in
particular, to the North London Collegiate and Camden Schools for girls.
The day was further marked as the close of the first great period of the
School’s history by the absence, not only of the Head herself, but of
two of her foremost helpers—the Bishop of Winchester and Mr. Elliott—the
one suffering from the illness so soon to prove fatal, and the other
from sudden bereavement. So far back as 1879 Miss Buss, in regretting
the absence on the opening of the new Hall of the Rev. Charles Lee, had
thus written of these three friends—
“For years past Mr. Lee was the one person who was guide,
philosopher, and friend; who gave up his time, and who, with Mr.
Elliott and Mr. Thorold, met constantly in Camden Street, looked
after Myra Lodge as well as 202, worked up the law questions
(Mr. Elliott has always _given_ his law knowledge to me and to
the movement from the beginning), and in fact worked hard when
friends were few and success was apparently hopeless.”
Mr. Lee’s removal from London deprived Miss Buss of his valuable help,
but for fifteen years longer Dr. Thorold and Mr. Elliott were by her
side in any time of need, and their kind and genial speeches had come to
be an essential part of Prize Day rejoicing.
And so the old order changes once again. But, no longer looking sadly
backward, we may turn hopefully to the future, as past and present are
united in the heartfelt tribute to the Founder with which her successor
takes up the work of the school.
“Last year I stood behind her in this place and read the Prize
Day report, which was _her_ report, for her. To-day I am proud
to be her deputy once again and glad, for this day at least, of
the circumstances which have determined that as yet no one
speaks in her place as more than a deputy.
“The thought of our School’s past—the pride in it, the regret
for it as past—must be specially with us all to-day. For the
first time in forty-five years we meet together for our yearly
distribution of prizes without the gracious presence of the
Founder, a presence so familiar, that cannot be replaced. A
great teacher, a wise administrator, a strong and sympathetic
leader, she held a place almost as unique in the educational
world as the history of the schools she founded. Nevertheless,
the loss to us in this school is deepest, widest, most intimate.
To those who have been her colleagues, the sense of it is ever
present, in all the details of work, and affecting all the
relations of friendship.
“Noble work like hers remains in effect for all time, and great
inspirations are immortal, passing on from mind to mind. The
neighbourhood knows, and will long know, our building as ‘Miss
Buss’ School,’ and our traditions have already lived too long to
lose the stamp of the character that moulded them. To guard them
with care, to act on them with zeal, will be the pleasure and
duty of every North London girl.
“It is, I believe, hardly necessary, but I would like, before
concluding, to remind the pupils of the thanks that are due to
the teachers for their never-failing interest and devotion to
work which, though always cheering, is sometimes hard. For
myself, I could not adequately express, but I hope they know
without words how much I have appreciated their loyal support
and their unity of spirit as they have worked together with me
during these last six months. The dark cloud through which we
have passed has caused us all as colleagues to draw closer
together, like children in a family when the head has gone
forth.”
We find the same spirit in the account given in the _School Magazine_ of
Mrs. Bryant’s election, on July 9, as Miss Burstall concludes—
“It was a quiet day, and a very simple ceremony. There was
something of the sweetness and ease of home in it all, and
indeed we felt as if we were a family rather than a school; and,
as in the beautiful and sacred life of home we do not speak of
our loyalty and devotion, but act on them as principles so
certain as to need no expression, so it was here. The day was a
very happy one. Every one went about her work with a new impulse
of earnestness, a new assurance of peaceful continuity. For the
rest, the future will speak, and the past is witness that the
future will be good.”
On Prize Day, that last day of the old which was the first day of the
new era, Lady Frederick Cavendish in her address dwelt especially on the
faith and sympathy of the Founder as the secret of the success of her
schools, finding here, as everywhere, the true source of all great and
lasting work in the faith that uplifts and the love that unites.
Then from the bright past the speaker looked beyond the darkly shadowed
present to a future full of hope in the work to come. None present on
that day will forget the inspiration of the closing words of this
address—words doubly strong as quoted by one who had come through a
great darkness into the light: one who will always stand out as witness
that a heart emptied of joy may yet become a full channel of blessing—
“What though the brightness dim, the glory fade,
The splendour vanish?—Not of these is made
The holy trust that to your charge is given,
Children of God, inheritors of heaven!
• • • • • •
A sacred burden is the life ye bear,
Look on it, lift it, bear it solemnly,
Stand up, and walk beneath it steadfastly,
Fall not for sorrow, falter not for sin,
But upward, onward, till the goal ye win.
God guide you, and God guard you all the way;
Children of light, set forth, set forth to-day!”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
INDEX.
(EDUCATIONAL).
A
Abbott, Dr. E. A., 33, 134, 277
Ablett, Dr., 226
Assistant-Mistresses’ Association, 245
B
Beale, Miss, 6, 18, 51, 182, 232, 340, 385
Bodichon, Madame, 18, 281
Bostock, Miss, 5, 50, 253
Brewers’ Company, 104, 147, 150, 156, 164, 384
Browne, Canon, 259, 385
Bryant, Dr. Sophie, 3, 169, 175, 215, 270, 385, 390, 394
Burbury, Mrs., 19, 91, 134, 253, 290, 384
Buss, Mr. R. W., 32, 39, 54, 57, 74
——, Mrs., 30, 40, 74, 276
——, Rev. A. J., 43, 47, 91, 317, 325, 353, 390
——, Rev. S., 43, 91, 150, 265, 286, 320
C
Cambridge Local Examinations, 5, 15, 19, 256, 258
—— parties, 345
Cavendish, Lady F., 292, 294
Character, 218
Cheltenham, 341
Chessar, Miss, 276, 277
Children, love of, 347
Chreimann, Miss, 226
Clothworkers’ Company, 104, 150, 154, 384, 389
Clough, Miss, 18, 28, 131, 245, 262, 276, 286, 386
Cobbe, Miss, 12, 32, 53, 117, 121, 127, 184, 193
Cock, Miss, M.D., 220
College, Queen’s, 5, 14, 47, 51
——, Bedford, 14, 50
——, Cambridge Training, 281
——, Cheltenham, 14, 51, 341
——, Girton, 13, 164, 174, 253, 261
——, Holloway, 262
——, Maria Grey Training, 280
——, Newnham, 262
D
Danson, Mr. W., 91, 125, 240
Davies, Miss, 10, 27, 50, 101, 105, 232, 269, 282, 300, 385
Degrees for women, 265
Doreck, Miss, 273, 275
E
Education for girls, 13, 128
——, Medical, for women, 299
Education, Letter on, 199
—— in Sweden, 110, 323
—— Union, 117, 122, 124
Educational ideals, 205
Elliott, Mr. W. T., 91, 104, 240, 393
Ewart, Miss, 18, 91, 125, 134, 141, 281, 294
F
Family affection, 75
Farmer, Dr., 225
Fearon, Mr. D. B., 3, 255
Fitch, Dr. J. G., 3, 9, 152, 164, 252, 266, 268, 280, 354, 385
G
Garrett, Miss, 19, 101, 300
Generosity, 95, 249
“Girl-graduates,” 14, 169
Girton, 13, 164, 174, 253, 261
Governesses’ Benevolent Institution, 47, 289
Graphic power, 35
“Graphic Satire,” 32
Grey, Mrs. William, 18, 105, 117, 127, 131, 152, 164, 232, 274, 277,
364
Gurney, Miss, 19, 119, 123
H
Hadland, Miss, 243, 292
Hall, Mrs. S. C., 49, 107
Hero-worship, 61
Hodgson, Dr. W. B., 16, 89, 98, 173, 205, 274, 289, 294, 354, 365
“Home Rule,” 301
Hubbard, Miss, 18, 290
Hughes, Miss E. P., 285, 311
Humanity, 29
Humility, 250
Hygiene, 183
I
Influence, 59
J
Jebb, Prof., 392
Jewsbury, Miss, 108, 111, 127
_Journal, Women’s Education_, 121
K
Kindergarten, 71, 275
L
Laing, Rev. D., 5, 44, 74, 253
Latham, Mr., 5, 10, 147
Lee, Rev. C., 91, 392
Lyttelton, 2, 10, 102, 392
M
Manners, 194
Manning, Miss E. A., 18, 243, 275, 281, 302
Martin, Miss Frances, 18, 51
Maurice, Prof. F. D., 14, 49, 52
Memorials, 384
Menzies, Mrs., 264
Music, 205, 224
Myra Lodge, 92, 95, 179, 373
N
Naturalness, 189
Neate, Mr., 103
Needlework, 37, 169, 171, 269
Nicolay, Prof., 49, 51
Notes, 211
O
Order, 217
Overwork, 183
P
Payne, Mr. Joseph, 121, 202, 275
Peace Society, 303
Prince of Wales, 1, 125, 160
Princess of Wales, 115, 125, 151, 160
Prize-Day, 1, 160, 238, 393
Q
Quietness, 18
R
Reid, Mrs., 50
Responsiveness, 193
Reverence, 197
Robins, Mr. E. C., 90, 103, 153, 155, 163
Roby, Mr. H. J., 147, 149
Rogers, Rev. William, 105, 118, 145, 160
Royal Commission, First Schools Inquiry, 2
—— ——, Second Schools Inquiry, 178, 297
—— ——, Charity, 136
—— ——, Endowed Schools, 134, 135, 147
S
School, North London Ladies, 55, 58
——, —— Girls, 96, 109, 125, 157, 170, 213, 255
——, Camden, 96, 108, 132, 206, 209
——, Christ’s Hospital, 9
——, Cowper Street, 105, 128
——, Danish, 204, 207
——, Edinburgh, 137, 201
——, Endowed, 11, 134, 135
——, Girls’ Public Day, 123, 133
——, Maria Grey, 170
Scholarships, 80, 106
Scholarships, Travelling, 389
School-Mistresses’ Association, 243
Shirreff, Miss, 19, 261, 275, 277, 365
Soames, Miss, 19, 80, 281
Stanley of Alderley, Lady, 18, 253
Storr, Mr., 293, 350, 384
Storrar, Dr., 3, 10, 91, 134, 143
Sunday talks, 195
Swanwick, Miss, 16, 50
T
Teachers, High School, 173
——, women, 201, 203
Teachers’ Guild, 245, 291
—— Loan Society, 293
—— Provident Association, 290
Teaching, 35, 40, 91
Temperance, 304
Thorold, Dr., 2, 10, 91, 102
—— (Bishop of Rochester), 165
—— (Bishop of Winchester), 348, 392
Thrift, 289
Training Colleges, Home and Colonial, 170, 177, 276
—— ——, Cambridge, 281
—— ——, Cheltenham, 277
—— ——, Maria Grey, 277
Training for work, 71, 177
——, physical, 203, 222
Travel, love of, 313
U
Unconventionality, 79
W
Ward, Miss A. J., 291
Waste, 189
Woman’s question, 16, 99, 343
Wormell, Dr., 249, 385
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
LONDON AND BECCLES.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
● Transcriber’s Notes:
○ A word in the handwritten caption to the Frontispiece was
illegible. It is marked [** illegible].
○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.
○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only
when a predominant form was found in this book.
○ Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).