LETTERS
‘The living record of your memory.’
SHAKSPERE, _Sonnet_ lv.
Miss Beale enjoyed both receiving and writing letters. She kept a very
large number, especially of those from old pupils. A letter which told of
help or inspiration gained through the life at College would be put away,
labelled in her own peculiar and favourite abbreviated way: ‘Sent 2 chēr
me.’ She was a very ready and at times a very voluminous correspondent.
She attended to all her letters herself, and answered all to which she
intended to reply, not merely by return of post, but often the moment she
received them. If her answer was of some importance she would keep it
by her for a time, and often rewrite it before finally sending it. Her
papers include a very large number of drafts and copies of letters which
she sent. The chief part of her correspondence was done before the school
hours began each morning, and she generally came to her place at 9 A.M.
with her morning letters already answered. Where she found she could help
by means of letters she would spare no pains nor time over them.
Perhaps Mrs. Charles Robinson received more than any one else. In 1878
Mrs. Robinson, then Miss Arnold, left Cheltenham to become a teacher
at the Dulwich High School. She was at that time in a state of great
religious perplexity; dissatisfied with the teaching of the Plymouth
Brethren, among whom she had been brought up, unable to accept that of
the Church, she would not attend the services of either. During this
time of gloom Miss Beale wrote every week to Miss Arnold a letter she
might receive on Sunday morning, and all her life remained a constant
correspondent. It is fitting that this chapter of letters should begin
with some of those written to the ‘best-beloved child.’[104]
To Miss Arnold:—
‘_July 1880._
‘It seems to me you have failed in trying to keep the first
commandment, and so of course in the others. “Thou shalt
worship the Lord Thy God and Him _only_ shalt Thou serve.” You
see it is not _when_ we feel inclined; _when_ we can realise
His presence, _when_ we have plenty of spare time.
‘Then in your life and work has it not been that you have
thought more of pleasing others, of doing work, of being so
laborious, so useful, etc. etc., instead of serving Him, too
much of being well thought of yourself. This often leads to
greed of work: we do not say: “Lord, what wouldst Thou have me
to do?” but, “I want to do this or that.”
‘Then as regards your public worship. Do not you think, if you
told your father that you felt Church services more helpful, he
would be less grieved that you should go to Church than go in
deadness. He chose the Brethren because he felt his religious
life quickened with them; would he not wish you to act in the
same spirit? Could you not frankly talk it over with him?’
In 1881 Miss Beale wrote to urge Miss Arnold to attend some addresses Mr.
Wilkinson was about to give:—
‘You will make some effort and some sacrifices, if necessary,
to come, will you not, my dear child? Even the love of Miss ——
for which you should give thanks, is a danger too, lest you
should learn to look at yourself with the indulgence that we
give to those we love, and do not see clearly the faults and
failings. Mr. Wilkinson does help to show how much ground there
is for humility.’
To the same:—
‘_1882._
‘Your letter grieves me very much, just as the painful illness
of one I love would; because you have to go through it; but it
is right, if you go through it rightly, seeking the truth. Only
one cannot in a letter, nor in a little while, nor off-hand
deal with these difficulties. As in every science, thought, and
earnest labour, and aspiration, and desire are necessary if we
would find truth; so in religion, the knowledge of absolute
wisdom and goodness, which transcends all we can know, there
must be a deep devotion to truth, which spares no pains in the
search.
‘Will you begin with a simple and clear book first,—I noticed
it in the last Magazine,—by Godet. It is translated by Canon
Lyttelton. I think it shows conclusively the fact of our Lord’s
resurrection, and with that goes the testimony of miracles,
not as wonders but as signs. When you have got thus far, you
will find, I trust, the repulsion to the supernatural element
diminished, if it exists in you. Don’t _ever_ let yourself
say, “We can’t know.” We can know enough to believe and trust
in God’s goodness, and one must go on seeking by _prayer_,
_thought_, _obedience_, very, very patiently, and then through
eternity one will draw nearer and nearer.
‘As regards your conception of inspiration, I think it requires
correction; claims have been made for the Bible which it never
made for itself. Holy men spake as they were moved by the Holy
Spirit; but the _literal dictation_ of every word we are not
taught.
‘But I cannot attempt to answer piecemeal. I have gone through
all these questionings, but I think my faith strengthens
from year to year,—if I dare say so. So that it seems to
me marvellous that any one can fail to _feel_ the divine,
underlying all the superficial, the phenomenal which men verily
call realities. Do you remember how Browning makes Lazarus
feel “marvel that they too see not with his opened eyes!” That
objection to the Israelites destroying the Canaanites seems to
me so frightfully superficial. Are there not evils far worse
than death? Would it not be enormously preferable to die than
to live as many do? What should we say if we could see beyond
the grave? We judge knowing only one side of the grave. And
if God saw well that these people should die at once, would
it not be part perhaps of the education of a nation chosen
to do a particular work, that God should make them burn with
indignation against the detestable, unspeakable, moral evils,
and make them the executioners of His justice? It would not
degrade them to do this, if they did it as a judge condemns
the guilty, with no personal hatred. We cannot sit in judgment
thus. In the world’s history we see God ever employing men to
do the work He has to do. There may be necessities for this,
of which we know nothing; I mean in the nature of things:
certainly there is good as regards the moral training of men.
‘Go on wishing and praying and seeking all your life, never
saying anything which you do not believe, and then the God of
truth will hear you as you say, “Open Thou mine eyes, that I
may see the wondrous things of Thy law.” “Lighten our darkness,
we beseech Thee!” _Feeling_ must come in, as the Brethren
rightly say. We must love, and desire, and know Him to be our
Father; we must trust Him. We can’t understand even an earthly
friend without trust, but we must use the powers He has given
us, we dare not bury them. We shall have to wait for the
solution of much hereafter; but we shall grow in grace and in
the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour.
‘My poor child, would I could help you more, but God will
help you. “Though He tarry, wait.” Use the means natural and
supernatural. Tell me from time to time how you are getting on,
and I will try to put you on a _course_ of reading.’
To the same:—
‘_1882._
‘My poor child, I do indeed feel for you in your loneliness,
but remember him whose eyes were opened spiritually and he was
_therefore_ cast out of the synagogue,—but Jesus found him. Do
not fear that because the disciples call down fire that the
Lord will [send it]. “Come unto Me all that are heavy-laden,”
He says to us now as then. To those who are “without guile,”
_i.e._ sincerely seeking truth, He still promises that they
shall see greater things than they have ever done.... No; we
cannot and we would not believe that He who is infinitely
wiser than man can be less good. He is not a Pharaoh to bid us
make bricks without straw. He does not tell us to do what we
cannot and then punish us for not doing it. “She hath done
what she could” was the sentence of the Lord when others found
fault. God is love, and if _we_ pity and long to draw to our
hands any suffering child of earth, must not He? If we pity
those who suffer in a _less_ degree, must not He those who are
suffering the sorrow greatest of all, the loss in any degree of
His presence, of that faith which makes all things possible?
Go on, my poor child, looking up to Him, and trusting in His
utter love who will not leave us, not when we cry, “Depart from
me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord.” It is hard sometimes to
believe we are not wrong, when we see the disciples, those who
really want to do right, acting so differently from the way in
which He acted. But we know that in all ages some of the most
unchristian things have been done by those who thought they
were doing God’s will.
‘I do not think from what you tell me that you can go on at
the Meeting. If your father wishes it you might for a while
abstain from going to church; but if so, let the time you would
have spent in public worship be passed in private prayer and
studying; just looking up with childlike spirit to the Father,
feeling His presence, His love.
‘I do not think you should, however, absent yourself long from
communion with some body of believers. All Scripture and our
spiritual experience is against this. If you decide for St.
Peter’s, I think I can tell you of a friend’s house where you
would be welcome most Sundays; and we must have you among us
for the Quiet Days at Christmas.
‘You know I do not want to proselytise; if with the Brethren
you had found spiritual nourishment, I would have had you rest
there; but now you are starving it is different, like that poor
dove who found no rest for the sole of her feet, you need to be
taken into an ark.
‘I do not want you to be dependent on man, but it is the order
of God’s providence that He sends disciples to lead others to
Him, and so we are to help one another. And you have a period
of trouble before you, outward and inward, until you are able
to stand upon the rock once more. Trust God if you should have
to walk through that dark valley where you cannot see Him. Each
trial will one day result in joy,—the joy of being able to help
other troubled souls especially. He descended into Hades, He
rose again! I shall remember you in prayer, and I shall ask
prayers for you at St. Peter’s, of course without their knowing
the least who you are, but that you are suffering and in
darkness. Be patient and I think your father’s heart will come
back.’
To the same:—
‘_1882._
‘Now, my dear child, do not fret about this trial. Just try to
look up and wait. I believe your father’s heart will come back.
You see he has obeyed his opinions before, and truth is like
the sun which ever rises higher upon our earthly day, and does
not sink as the natural sun. We need sometimes to remember the
words, “Call no man your father upon earth.” I mean that there
is the all-embracing Fatherhood, in which we see all earthly
relations: we do not, must not, cast those off, but they must
be swallowed up in the greater. Write to me whenever you feel
it would comfort you, I will try to help you, until you feel
again that you need not outward help.... One feels more and
more how slowly one learns and how infinite is God’s truth; how
one need’s patience and deep humility, and utter faith in Him
who is the Light.’
To the same:—
‘_January 1883._
‘My poor child, you must not grieve thus. Since God loves your
father, He is giving to him only that discipline, whatever
it be that is necessary. Yes, believe this, even though
the suffering has come through you, for we must believe it
_universally_. I do not say you will not suffer for it, or that
there may not have been some wrong in it on your part. But
if, as you know, he does wish you to know and serve God more
perfectly, then through this God is leading him on to know and
serve Him better, and you must trust God to know _what_ He is
about. You _must_ go on for your own sake (and for the sake of
the children God has given you), seeking for light.’
To the same:—
‘_January 1883._
‘I always feel as if I must write by return. Your letters draw
out my heart to you so. I am glad you went and felt the love
shining in on you.
‘Now, as regards the _a priori_ argument; it is just the
fundamental thing. Did you read my Browning paper? See, it is
just _the_ thought that comes out in “Saul.” We, if we love
ourselves, we _must_ believe in God’s love. He must be better
if He is greater in every other way; it cannot be that we excel
Him in the power of love, which is the highest gift of all. We
can’t think that He does not care for His children, that He has
left them orphans.
‘I think one can see too that He in whom dwelt the Divine
Spirit without measure, yet who was truly man, and who
therefore grew as man in insight as we do, felt that utter
faith grow, tower up, as that intense love, that utter
self-devotion which He felt within, _told_ Him of His oneness
with God; as He prayed that we might be one, even as He was one
with the Father.
‘And He, trusting the Father, knew He could _not_ be deceived
by that Father; and we knowing Him, know He could not deceive
us.... So I come _a priori_ to belief in the story of that
Life, and when I get to it by inward reasons, I am able first
to look at the outward [reasons], which to many are enough
without the inward, but are not to me. It was in this way too
Kant got back to belief in Christianity. I read it was the
moral law within which taught him, and all St. John’s teaching
seems to me to be that we must feel the Spirit within ere we
can recognise the Christ without. But then He does give freely
of His Spirit,—if we seek, we shall find. He knocks at the door
of man’s heart, “If _any one_ will hear He will come in.”
‘My child, do remember those comforting words, “If ye were
blind ye should have _no sin_, but now ye say, we see;
therefore your sin remaineth.” So blindness is no sin in
itself, if is lazy, conceited ignorance that is sin.
‘I wish you could be in the House of Rest from Friday to
Monday, and have all Saturday of the Quiet Days. I wish you
could have one talk with Mr. Wilkinson before he leaves.’
To the same:—
‘_January 1883._
‘It does seem to me such a strange idea that our service should
be acceptable to God in proportion to its difficulty. It is
really at bottom the same thing that makes people torture
themselves. It lies at the root of that idea regarding the
Sabbath, which our Lord condemned so strongly. He came to make
us know better the Father’s heart. Surely He loves to make it
easy to His children to draw near. “I will allure her into the
wilderness and will speak comfortably unto her.” Under the old
dispensation He appointed a solemn ritual, and why did St. Paul
exhort us to use psalms and hymns but that by the joy of music
our hearts may be loosened from their deadness, and then we can
trust them whither we will. It seems to me of course that our
service is much more in conformity with the apostolic model
handed down, and with allusions in the Bible. But I do not want
to dispute about that. God has left us free. If your father
says, “I wish you to go to the meeting,” you should, supposing
you think it not wrong, obey. But I don’t believe he would, if
you told him you went merely in obedience to his wishes; that
you felt it did not help your spiritual life.
‘If it is finally decided that you go to St. Peter’s, I should
like to ask Mr. Wilkinson to see you, and I would tell him some
of your difficulties; he is so wise.
‘I have been thinking much these holidays about the many who
like yourself are full of difficulties and questions. One thing
some of us are going to do, and I want you to join: make each
week special prayers for the teachers in Colleges and High
Schools,—(you will specially remember me), and ask that some
means may be found of helping them....
‘Need you dwell upon that question of eternal death? Could you
not say, “Father, I see not yet what Thou doest, but I trust
Thee?” If the death of any of His creatures whom He loves is
_inevitable_, then it does not make us believe Him unloving, we
know how He yearns to serve us.’
To the same:—
‘_March 1883._
‘I do not mean either to say that the carelessness of a time in
which you did see and were able to realise divine things was
_nothing_ to do with the present trial. Who can judge another?
I begged him not to be unhappy if your religious life took
another form....
‘Yes, I was so glad to see your father. I feel I know him much
better, and perhaps he knows me better.
‘I quite understand his strong language about the Church, only
those evils are not inherent in it, but in our sinful nature,
and similar ones appear even among the Brethren. The unreality
does not depend upon the amount of ritual....’
To the same:—
‘_April 1883._
‘I have very much enjoyed Professor Edward Caird’s _Hegel_.
It is 3s. 6d., published by Blackwood. I am not quite sure it
would help you, but think it would. I want you to get deeper,
and to be very patient until God shows you more light. He
is showing it to you, only until you and I are able to see
more clearly He must wait. You have not suffered so much for
nothing, but I trust you may one day help others. If you get
Westcott on the Resurrection, read the end first on Positivism,
there is much in it that is so Christian, and much in what is
called Christianity which St. Paul would have called carnal.
All that about the Lord’s glorified Body in St. John and St.
Paul speak to us of a spirit glorified and no longer bound in
any space, but a life-giving power, real, substantial....
‘Poor George Eliot. She had a passionate nature, and she came
into circumstances so sad. Her life is a great sorrow to those
who feel that her teaching was in some way noble, though in
others it was really weakening. He who knows all will judge
her: “Whose mercy endureth for ever.” She was a long way above
Lewes. If you come across Hutton’s Essays you ought to read
them. I always get a good bit of reading in the holidays that
demands thought....’
To the same:—
‘_May 1883._
‘I am glad you find the work comforting again, and that God
has sent you help through some one else. Don’t fret and look
forward to next holidays, you don’t know yet how full of
blessing they may be. Just remember it is a command, “Be not
anxious for to-morrow,” and so we can obey. I remember once
that thought that I must stay seemed the only thing to save me
from breaking down, and so failing to do as I ought the work
God had given me. See that it is a sin to fret and be anxious
about your father’s health, or your future relations to home,
or anything. We have to do our best, and then trust to Him “who
ordereth all things according to the counsel of His Will.”
‘Then as regards past sins. It seems to me that it enervates
you to dwell upon them as you are doing. I may be wrong, but it
seems to me that the sense of guiltiness in the past makes you
afraid of God, as you ought not to be. If a child were ever so
naughty to you, did ever so many wrong things to you, would it
shut her out from your love? You know it would not; you would
sorrow over her, and seek to do her good. Only her continuing
naughty, continuing to hate and distrust you, could _prevent_
your doing her good. “Ye are not straitened in God, but in your
own heart.” “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to
forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us.” We can’t think of Him
not forgiving us, without thinking of Him as less good than
He is, and He is infinitely good. Of course this does not mean
that He will not give us due discipline for our past failures,
in order that we may be healed of the sins which caused them;
but then we are glad of this, it is only a sign of His love for
us.
‘We should confess to Him because He is judge, _i.e._ He
separates and enables us to discern, distinguish the good from
the evil in us, and separate. One whom I have often quoted to
you said, “I forbid you to look at your sins except at the foot
of the Cross.” Do you do this sometimes? The consciousness
of guilt would be hardening without the consciousness of the
abounding love. This purifies. I wonder if I have met your
thought....’
To the same:—
‘_May 1883._
‘You say you don’t know what to pray for. I think, perhaps,
you are praying too exclusively for yourself. Ask for God’s
grace, and power to respond. Intercede much for your children,
your relations, your father, teachers and friends, and any one
whom God gives you the means of helping. Especially at Holy
Communion pray for the Church and all who are separated by
darkness from one another, and put yourself quietly in God’s
Hands. Some of our collects help me; one Mr. Wilkinson was so
fond of: “Who knowest our necessities before we ask,” etc.
etc.: do you know it? I think of Him then as coming to us all
in Holy Communion, and from His own Hands giving us the pledges
of His love, to make us know He is giving us His own glorified
Life; the Life of God in such a way that we can receive
it,—emptying Himself in Christ of that glory which we can’t
know: the Absolute Being, the Infinite we cannot conceive. We
must trust His word ... and this faith makes us strong, saves
us from sickness, delivers us from the power of sin; yes,
though we fall again and again, enables us to arise.
‘I so want you not to have that crushing fear, which, I may be
wrong, but I think, you sometimes feel of God. He must be so
sorry, if we don’t understand Him and feel like that.... “I
fell at His feet as dead, and He laid His hand on me, saying,
_Fear_ not.” Think of this and of the parting words, “Peace be
unto you.”’
To the same:—
‘_July 1883._
‘ ... You will have heard of our great loss, and yet I ought
not to call it so,—in dear Mrs. Owen. It is good to have known
her, and one feels what it is to live and work in the hearts of
others, seeing such a life and death. I will tell you more of
what she has taught [me] when you come.’
To the same:—
‘_July 1883._
‘My dear child, I will certainly ask for both of you to come.
Yes, it is a naughty letter. You must love not only with pity,
but with a stretching forth to sympathise. What if we feel
ourselves better than another, because the Spirit has stirred
the once cold depths of our soul, and so there is some light.
Is it not because there has been so little that souls near us
have remained cold? Can we ever glance at their faults without
shame in thinking we are responsible for so much? How we shall
long to make them some amends, how gladly we shall bear any
punishment, or even harshness, if we can through this show our
yearning love, alleviate our self-reproval! We cannot feel
we are better. Our Church service does at least try to keep
us humble by our repeated confessions, especially at Holy
Communion.’
To the same:—
‘So very glad you have had a happy time. God is good in giving
us playgrounds as well as workrooms; we want both, and in
both He shines on us, and is glad in our gladness as well as
afflicted in our afflictions....’
To the same:—
‘_October 1885._
‘I object to your sentence, that you would rather your father
thought what was not true, than that he should think what is
certainly the truth, viz. that he has been in some way to
blame. Also to that “I cannot bear this sorrow to fall on
him.” We have simply to do the right, and believe that God
knows what He is about, when He lets pain come upon us for our
mistakes; pains us, yes, “shatters us,” that we may know the
truth better. How many a parent or teacher tries to spare a
child _pain_, and wrongly. You will not, of course, _willingly_
pain any, much less the father whom you love so much, but
you have both of you simply to speak the truth and do what
conscience bids you.... Say frankly and firmly what you _feel_
you _must_ do, and then drop the subject.... You remind me of
those good Christians who beg us not to hang a man, “_lest_
he should fall into the hands of God.” God can care for people
whether alive or dead, but I believe your father would really
suffer less, and be worried less, by a simple straightforward
course of conduct. You are thinking of self too much, thinking
_yourself_ of _too_ much importance when you say, “I am only
thinking of the sorrow that threatens him and how I can bear
it.” Perhaps God is leading him to truer views of the Father.’
The following letter, written in August 1888, refers to Miss Arnold’s
appointment as Head-mistress of the Truro High School:—
To the same:—
‘_August 1888._
‘Do not trouble yourself about whatever you _ought_ to have
done _now_. It is done, and you thought it right, so it was
right. I think of your Bishop saying in his quiet way, “I do
the best I can, and then I just leave it.” I dare say the Lakes
will refresh you. It is “heart-rending,” I doubt not. I wept
all the day that I left Queen’s, but it was well. We are having
a delightful time....
‘Now I must stop my 15th letter. I had to get up at 5 A.M., the
days are so full.’
To the same:—
‘_September 1888._
‘I think you are beginning to-day, at least you are a good
deal in my thoughts, and you will want a lot of wisdom. It is
a comfort to remember, “If any man lack wisdom let him ask of
God, who giveth to all men liberally.” I am so glad you have
Miss ——. It is a great thing to have a few who work for love
only....
‘Don’t be hasty in making changes, and don’t take to caps!’
To the same:—
‘Be sure the rooms will brighten when you have prayed some
sunshine into them. It is terrible to have such a lot of
servants!
‘Miss Buss gets her girls to help adorn.
‘I am glad we open on St. Matthew’s Day.’
To the same:—
‘_August 1888._
‘Miss H. and Miss E. wanted me to advise your going out
socially a little. I said I thought there were as yet
difficulties, as a Head-mistress cannot choose; that I thought
for the first term it might be best to abstain; then you can
look round you and judge better. They did not think there were
many who would ask you, that those who would were nice, and it
would be better for you not to be quite shut up. What do you
think of saying you will go out not more than once a week? You
have had so active a life; and intercourse with other people,
and varied interests are good for school teachers. Also they
think for the school it is good. I merely tell you this, I said
I could not judge for you.
‘I hope you will not be led by anything I said to speak, if
you do not think it is quite best, or indeed to do anything. I
cannot judge, and if I could, the responsibility is yours, and
I should grieve if I misled you.
‘I am so glad you feel refreshed. It is our general meeting; I
shall be glad when it is over.
‘All best wishes, dear child, for you and yours, the children
whom God has given you.’
To the same:—
‘_October 1888._
‘“Be wise as serpents, and harmless as doves.” I should not
answer people who lay snares, we have a good example of this to
guide us.
‘It is so absurd of people to expect one to make up one’s mind
on all subjects. We can no more judge of many questions of
foreign or domestic policy than we can about the steering of a
ship. But we can of questions of morality and cruelty.
‘Mrs. Grey’s new book, _Last Words to Girls_, is so grand. I
hope it will be useful.’
To the same:—
‘_October 1888._
‘We must put things in the ideal way. Religiosity is the death
of religion, the grave-clothes which keep the living soul bound
in the sepulchre; which you have to help to loosen that it may
come forth at Christ’s word.
‘No, I don’t know the Bishop at all personally. I think if he
will let you consult him, you will find his judgment a great
help, but after all the responsibility rests on you, you can’t
put it on any one.’
To the same:—
‘_July 1889._
‘We have, I should think, quite full numbers now. I have not
got the lists, but we have at least seventy new pupils; it is
strange.
‘I am better, have managed to be in College every day, by means
of spending the end in bed. I hope I shall pick up, for work is
a tonic.’
To the same:—
‘_February 1889._
‘I am so thankful God gives me any words to help you, my dear
child. I think, however, it was that passage I sent you from
Canon Body’s notes, was it not, that really helped you, not
what I said myself?’
To the same:—
‘_January 1890._
‘It was nice to see you. Be sure that nothing would be worse
for you than to have no worries, to have all speak well of you.
Besides the more you need wisdom the more you will ask and seek
it, and the more it will come for your needs.
‘And it is only by patience under our trials that you can bear
witness to her and others of the spirit that is in you.’
To the same:—
‘_August 1890._
‘I shall not, I expect, see you. I do not go to Oxford till
Saturday, and leave on Monday. I hope you will not be made
ill at Ammergau; I mean to keep as quiet as I can. I have
already begun a good read; all Lotze’s book on Religion, _The
Children of Gibeon_, part of Stanley, a good deal of Green’s
philosophical works, and _Lux Mundi_, and endless magazines.’
To the same:—
‘_August 1890._
‘Thanks for your very interesting letter. I think I should
have felt as you did. I once went to something of the kind in
Switzerland, and liked some of the early scenes, but after the
Agony in the Garden I felt I could see no more, and came out....
‘I have had such cheering letters lately. One from a girl whom
I thought the most tiresome I ever knew, about thirty-four
years ago. She has been writing and saying how sorry she is,
and wants to send her niece to be under me: “after many days
thou shalt find it.”’
To the same:—
‘_November 1890._
‘All good wishes for “more life and fuller.” Don’t trouble
about not _feeling_. Remember the Lord’s words to those
unfeeling disciples who went to sleep during His agony: “The
spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.” There is winter as
well as spring or summer in our spiritual life. “Die Blume
verblüht, die Frucht muss treiben.” You complain of the outward
excitement of others, yet you want inward excitement. See how
in the _Imitatio_ one finds the same sort of feeling. I foresaw
some reaction; there have been times during the last few years,
during which you have been overstrained, and now you want a
period of hybernation, I believe. You will, of course, go on
doing just the same, as if you felt and saw, and you will
believe in the Presence, and do your best.’
To the same:—
‘_June 1891._
‘Don’t fret about what “they say,” not even listen, except to
learn. I dare say they are right, and have sides of truth that
we have not. In Tara there are beggars who go about saying:
“What God gives, I will take”; each of us can only do that.
‘I am glad you have got advice; you have been too careless
with this marvellous body, so complicated and needing to be
well-treated. You have driven it on, like some poor ass, with
sticks! Now you must be a little kind to it or it will stand
still and kick.’
To the same:—
‘_February 1892._
‘Your Bishop came last Wednesday, and I spoke to him for the
first time in my life, after having known him for so many
years. He seemed so bright, and I hope the removal of the load
of responsibility will restore him, and he will be able to take
up some less heavy work. He cannot but do good where-ever he
is: it is wonderful what a spiritual power he is felt to be.
He did just manage to see us before we broke up, but only in a
hurried way; then he lunched with me, and when all were gone he
gave me his blessing, which made me feel worse and better. Do
you understand?
‘I am so glad you are feeling cheered about the school. Don’t
you think it is right to be content with prosperity as well as
with adversity?...
‘Yes, I read _The Wages of Sin_ when it was coming out, a thing
I seldom do, but I was much struck with its power. The author
is a daughter of Kingsley. I don’t feel inclined to read Mrs.
Ward’s new book.’
To the same:—
‘_June 1892._
‘ ... I am enjoying my work. I was on the top of Battledown
before 7 A.M. to-day. It is the best time for a walk....’
To the same:—
‘_July 1892._
‘Our new building is to begin, and I am miserable at having to
turn out of my house, which is to be pulled down.’
To the same:—
‘_August 1892._
‘I think this state is partly reaction; do not bustle about
it, but take rest. The excitement of last year is, I fancy,
likely to lead to this; our spiritual faculties need rest after
overfatigue, so seek repose, “O rest in the Lord.” Read, too,
some lighter literature. Farrer’s story of Nero’s time I should
like you to read. It shows what Christianity has done. I had
a restful time at our Sanatorium after I had got out of my
house, and now I have had a very pleasant week with my sisters
at Woodchester. I really think it would be good for you one
day to make your headquarters at Leckhampton. The country is
so lovely, the air bracing, and there are all sorts of nice
excursions by train and omnibus, to most lovely places, and
there is such variety....
‘Be not anxious. Let me recommend you, as a diversion, to learn
shorthand. I find it very good. Script phonography, it is an
easy system, you could teach yourself. I am taking lessons; it
is much liked.’
To the same:—
‘_January 1893._
‘ ... We began to-day. I dare say I shall feel better when
we are once more immersed. We are about the same in numbers,
but there is a great deal of illness about, and we are half
thinking of having a whooping-cough class, under a separate
teacher, for Division III.’
To the same:—
‘_June 1893._
‘I have had a great pleasure lately. Mrs. Russell Gurney
has been spending six weeks here. You must get her _Dante’s
Pilgrim’s Progress_, just brought out, you will enjoy it; I
have given a copy to Mrs. Rix. Mr. Alfred Gurney came to stay
with her, and he has sent me his _Parsifal_, a little book of
about eighty pages; it is beautiful too.
‘I should like you to read (in part) Mrs. Booth’s _Life_. It is
very interesting, and I am quite surprised at the clearness and
truth of her teaching. She seems never to have joined a party,
but always looked for truth, and hates the God of Calvin and
the doctrine “of assurance,” and the idea that Christ could be
good _for us_ and we need not be good. Her utter devotion is
beautiful. I have not finished it, and I can’t see how the work
was carried on after the person “was saved.”’
To the same:—
‘_August 1894._
‘I am so glad you are feeling somewhat refreshed. You really
_must_ forget “the things that are behind”—the bad things as
well as the good, or the heart “would fail in looking back.”
And if no other way opens, and you are both called to go back
to Truro, you will be able. “I can do all things,” and the
sorrows for both of you will be like the mist which, though it
came up from the face of the ground, yet watered Paradise and
made it fruitful. Does not all consciousness of sin and failure
bring us nearer not only to Him in Whom alone is strength, but
to our brothers and sisters in sympathy and compassion. We are
touched with the feeling of their infirmities.
‘So, my dear child (I feel inclined to say children, for this
has made me feel nearer to your friend), “lift up the hands
that hang down and the feeble knees, lest that which is weak
be turned out of the way, but let it rather be healed” by your
sorrows—your wounds too.
‘I have had a very pleasant but exhausting time since we met.
I spent a fortnight at Oxford, attending both Oxford Extension
and British Association. We heard a good deal about social and
economic problems. Mr. Sydney Webb and Dr. Rein of Jena, who
trains men as teachers, gave some nice lectures. Miss Louch
is come back, having had a delightful time at the Educational
Congress at the Clarke University, under the Presidency of
Dr. Stanley Hall. She says she has learned a great deal....
I think our Training Department has as many if not more than
any College there is, in spite of not having received any of
the thousands that have been given to them—or, shall I say,
because of it? I am sure it is good to have to pay one’s way.
I believe our Universities would do better work if they had
nothing. “Then welcome each rebuff.”
‘We had many parties at St. Hilda’s, and everybody admired the
house. The girls enjoy the boat very much; I hope there will be
no accidents. It is a very safe one, but one is always nervous
about the water....
‘I am pleased with the Higher Cambridge List ... and I am glad
that we manage to keep up our lists, _because_ we do not buy
up our neighbours’ girls, and try not to make examinations the
end. Glad your girl has done so well.
‘I am working hard at the Magazine and my Reports to the
Council, and trying to rest a little after my Oxford labours.
On Tuesday I hope to go to the hills near Stroud.
‘I must lend you some day _Streets and Lanes_, by the late Miss
Benson. The Archbishop has sent me a copy.
‘May God bless and comfort your hearts, my dear children, and
make this light affliction, which is but for a moment, work out
an eternal good.’
To the same:—
‘AMBLESIDE, _May 1895_.
‘ ... The lakes are more beautiful and lovable than I had
imagined. There is a singular charm in the hills round
Ambleside, they ripple like the sea.
‘You must not “feel” while you are so weak, just lie, as
it were, in the sepulchre, and then come out as Browning’s
Lazarus.’
To the same:—
‘_July 1897._
‘I got home from London late last night, and it troubled me,
and you were much in my mind when I went to church; and in the
service it seemed to me that it must be your energies were
to be used to the full, and yet your married life, to which
you have now been called, does in some degree restrain you.
Hitherto I have thought you wanted, like an electric eel, to
recuperate; you have gone through too much lately. To-day, it
seemed to me as if you should still speak, but in writing; you
have the power of writing well. I think I speak better than I
write; I don’t know how you speak, but you can write. Now see
if speaking is not to be your work whether writing is. How I
feel I need solitude, and can’t write for want of it; but you
have solitude enough to enable you to write. A little later,
as I waited for a message, which sometimes comes at the quiet
times, the words came: “I became dumb, and opened not my mouth,
for it was Thy doing.” I thought it was to be sent on to you,
so there it is; not with your mouth, but with your hand, and
perhaps to a larger audience. I think the solitude of the cycle
will help you too....’
There was one friend and old pupil, a writer for whose philosophical
and poetical work in particular Miss Beale had a great admiration, who
received many letters from her. A few extracts from these are given. To
Miss ——:—
‘_December 1886._
‘I don’t think you will get any food in Spinoza. You say, may
we not adopt Agnosticism and say of these problems honestly, “I
will give it up”? But you _cannot_. We may try to, but it is
not _human_ to be content to be caged in by this little world
of time and space. That restless discontent reaching out to
wider knowledge, to the infinite, is surely its own witness.
If not, Man, the crown of all things on earth, is the only
irrational creature upon it. You will not be able to give up
philosophy.
‘I quite agree that we are not to be allowed here so to “make
up our minds.” That spirit ever open to receive more light, is
what our Master spoke of as the childlike spirit.
‘Have you seen a little sixpenny book by Armstrong of Leeds?
He is a Unitarian, so I do not agree with the end; but all
the early chapters on the Belief in God are very good, and I
think you would like it. There are also some very satisfactory
sermons by Professor Momerie on the existence of the soul.
I read a great deal of philosophy when I get time. Have you
read Martineau’s _Types of Ethical History_? If not, do. Also
Green’s _Prolegomena to Ethics_. Last summer I read Lotze’s
_Microcosmus_, but I should recommend the two others rather.
‘I wish you entered more than I think you do into Browning’s
thoughts. He has, it seems to me, so clearly set forth the main
basis of Faith, not systematically, but recurrently.
‘We must work out these matters for ourselves; but rest
we cannot. You cannot in the presence of your brother’s
suffering—you cannot in the presence of death say: “I care not
to lift the veil, or ever to know whether there is a curtain
behind which we pass or a dark abyss.”
‘Indeed, dear child, I do feel for you. When you are freer, you
must come and see me, and we will talk over things. I shall
not think you wicked, but believe that you do want to know
God, and that He is sorry for you, because you do care, but
cannot see.... It is only the contemptuous, what I may call the
omniscient Agnostic, that I do not want to have anything to do
with; those who _sneer_ at the most pathetic aspirations and
hopes. The reverent and yet sorrowful doubt which yet longs for
dawn, shall one day be blest by the sunrise, here or hereafter.’
To the same:—
‘_January 5, 1887._
‘MY DEAR CHILD,—No; I don’t mind your saying anything that is
in your heart.
‘As regards knowledge. We use this word, it seems, in different
senses. It is not at all identical with “to form a conception
of”: _e.g._ I cannot form a conception of what gravitation or
electricity is, but I _know_ each in a sense. These are names
for something without which the kosmos as it is could not be.
Or I might perhaps illustrate better by saying I can form no
_conception_ of the Universe, no _complete_ conception, and
yet from my isolated spot I look up and say, _it is_. Of what
_can_ we form a complete conception? Not of the “flower in the
crannied wall.”
‘Any other explanation of the facts of the Universe seems to
me incredible, except one, viz., that it is the utterance
of supreme Wisdom and Love, and that it is adapted to the
intelligence of finite beings. The Unity of law tells us there
is _one_ God, the Creator and Ruler. As regards the hypothesis
of order coming out of chance atoms—the myth of a primæval
chaos—can any one entertain it? _Ex nihil nihil_; the order we
see in evolution must have existed with the original atoms, if
such were the basis of created life.
‘No, I do not think it your _fault_, but the fault of Spinoza’s
system that it cannot give you satisfaction. It is a revival,
only in another form, too, of the old Greek thought of Zeus,
over whom there was another God, Fate. So Spinoza’s and the
Greek Supreme were not Supreme.
‘Of course I can do nothing in a letter but suggest lines of
thought and lines of reading. After Armstrong, I should most
like you to take either Green’s _Prolegomena_ or Martineau’s
_Types_, and read both several times. Green will help you to
see the unity underlying all possibility of knowledge.
‘It is perhaps more than anything the harmony of the Threefold
Unity which helps me to realise the conception of the divine
which Jesus uttered most clearly.
‘One sees the absolute physical unity, each atom forming part
of the complete whole, and standing in vital relation to the
whole.
‘One sees all knowledge as real, only when it takes its place
as in (can I say part of?) the Universal thought. One can see
things only when one sees all in God. But one sees that this
which we have separated off as physical nature, is yet the
means and the condition of the intellectual too; for Light,
which is necessary to vital processes, is the means by which
the Universal thought is revealed to our intelligence, by which
God touches, as it were, from without and awakens, and causes
truly to live, our intellectual being.
‘Thirdly, each—the physical, the intellectual—are felt by us
to be the means to the highest of all, the perfection of the
moral nature. Without this, goodness, power, and intellect
would be worthless or horrible; and as the material can only be
translated into the conception by the intellectual, so we feel
that the moral alone can interpret the intellectual.
‘That the full solution is not ours must seem natural to us,
who know ourselves to be shut in by space and time. But I am
sure that men will not long remain blind to other facts, as
they have been to some extent in this generation, owing to the
scientific sudden growth of our day.
‘The facts of conscience are to me quite inexplicable on
any other hypothesis than that of One who is supremely good
speaking to His children, not through “eye or ear,” but
directly. There is the unity of consciousness which makes
memory possible, and moral judgment possible; and yet there
is a secondary consciousness, the “categorical imperative,”
the ideal goodness, ever revealing to man a higher and
better. What if the conscience has never—I should say Except
in One—received the perfect vision of goodness? This is only
to say that the receiver is limited and imperfect, not that
the perfect spiritual sun is not, or rather I should say the
universal light, for the sun is a localisation of that which
is invisible; is saturating through infinite space. Words ever
fail.
‘I know that endless questions are still unanswered, but this
seems to me to be a real knowledge, which is consistent and
which gives peace, that all other theories are inconsistent,
and that the highest, the moral being is starved upon them.’
To the same:—
‘_January 27, 1892._
‘ ... The Bishop of Gloucester was here to-day, and began
talking about your Goethe, which he praised; he is a good
judge. I thought you would like to know. Would you send him the
book, and say I have asked you; he will tell people about it.
He reads philosophy too, and specially advises _Lotze_.’
To the same:—
‘Written from SUDELEY CASTLE, (probably) _December 1893_.
‘I fetched your Magazine from the Post Office about five
o’clock, and I have just read it through. I must express to you
how delighted I am with it. It is so clear, so well written, it
gets to the centre of things. I have seen nothing you have done
at all to compare with it. I must get the number. I think I
shall take in the Magazine, it looks good throughout. A friend
takes the philosophical review and lends it to me. I might
take this and lend it to her. I have a paper in hand against
an article in that, but I fear I shall not be able to polish
it off. You must have had days, _weeks_, of quiet thought to
write this. This makes me want you still more to go to Oxford,
and get to know Caird. Did I tell you I lunched with Jowett
_tête-à-tête_ not long before his death?
‘You must come and see me if I can’t come to you....’
‘PS.—If you lend it to other friends, ascertain about the
postage.’
To the same:—
‘_November 1895._
‘ ... I am sending you a little book on _Psychology_ by a young
teacher and writer. I wish she had shown me the MS. or the
proof. If you feel inclined to look at it, and give her a few
written criticisms I should be glad. We want so much common
language in all these subjects, words are used so differently;
_e.g._ “conception” is not generally used as she does.
Intuition is another which we must fix the meaning of, for
each book one reads. _Real_, _reason_, etc., want defining. A
dictionary of philosophical terms should be made by some people
authorised to establish an Eirenicon.’
To the same:—
‘_? 1896._
‘No; I am sure you _ought not_ to give anything. I am sorry
even that the notice was sent you. Perhaps, however, you may
know some one or ones who may have money that they want to put
out in some way for the Master’s service, and might think this
a right way. We shall not get on if the Guild has to produce
funds unasked. I don’t want _any one_ to be asked, but they
might be shown a paper.’
To the same:—
‘_January 1897._
‘ ... I find I read _Not made in Germany_ without knowing it
was yours. It is prettily written, but I don’t consider such
things worthy of you, and the variations on that _one_ tune
are so very numerous. I wish we, like the Greeks, had things
written which turned on other problems. These things are very
well as a diversion. I wonder what is the subject of the novel.
‘One of our teachers has been translating a book of Herbart’s.
I have sent for his introduction to philosophy. I will tell you
if I think it would do for what I want; something giving the
fundamental questions which come before beginners. Herbart is
much read now, but he is difficult to translate, and the people
who have tried have not been very successful; I wonder if you
have read any of him.
‘I send a letter of introduction to Miss Swanwick, I suppose
you know her translations and writings. I think she is only
second to Mrs. Browning, and she is charming, and young still.
When I last saw her, the friend of so many distinguished
people, her memory was wonderful. Tennyson had one of her books
open upon his table during the last days.’
To the same:—
‘(Date uncertain.)
‘ ... Herbart is a power. I have not got the book yet. You
really must not let yourself be diverted altogether from
philosophy. You have not thought and suffered so much for
nothing, and though your philosophy will come out in most
things, even in stories, you _must_ give it us sometimes
“neat.” You remind me of Darwin’s earth-worms; you have
had to burrow and work underground, and you have turned up
some fruitful soil. Well, the Spirit which led you into the
wilderness will bring you out of it, and anoint you to tell
some good tidings.’
To the same:—
‘_July 4, 1898._
‘ ... I am glad to hear you have come to a satisfactory
agreement with Blackwood. It is an advantage to have a leading
publisher. Now as regards the sonnet. I don’t feel as if
anything could make the Eros of later Greek religion pure. He
and Aphrodite have fallen from heaven, and I cannot think of
them at the same time with the Sufferer on Calvary—so it rather
jars on my feelings.
‘I know there is behind the myth the thought of love, of one
who is the offspring of truth and purity, of perfect beauty.
But love, associated with Eros as we know him, is not love....
‘I am feeling wonderfully well; the body responds to the
spirit, and is refreshed too by the sympathy of my dear
children.’
Miss Beale’s correspondence with her ‘children’ frequently concerned
spiritual and mental difficulties of various kinds. One or two of the
letters she wrote on such questions follow.
To one in religious doubt:—
‘(Undated.)
‘ ... How I wish some one abler and better than I could help
you now, but as God has given you to me, and something of a
mother’s heart with my children, I must try.
‘First: I would resolve to take some fixed time each day, say
ten minutes on first rising, just to plume one’s feathers for
some short flights above the earth.
‘Secondly: I would think of some of the blessings and thank God
for them.
‘Thirdly: Then I would plead for light; “Show me Thy glory;
but I would ask in humility, being content to wait till the
third or even the fourth watch.” I would ask, “Show me the
Father and it sufficeth; let me know Thy love, if I cannot
bear Thy glory.” And I would utter _the prayer_ not only in
aspiration in spoken words, or only in feeling (which is the
music of prayer), but I would utter it in act, by reading in
a childlike spirit some Scripture—climbing as it were the
Delectable Mountains with the shepherds, and trying to make out
something through their glasses. Ask that same Spirit, which
has taught the spirit of man, and which I believe taught you
specially,—not for your own, but for the Church’s sake, to show
to you spiritual truths.
‘Fourthly: Then I would see if there was some selfishness, some
“Evil Eye” preventing my seeing, and ask deliverance from any
besetting sin.
‘Fifthly: I would ask God to let me offer some sacrifice,
permit me to join with Him, to hold communion with Him in
blessing another, and try to look for some to whom I might give
some cup of refreshment, some way of entering into His joy, and
of crucifying self.
‘Sixthly: I would place myself under such influences as have
lifted the souls of others. I would join in common worship as
much as possible in our prayers here and at Church.
‘Seventhly: I would receive the teaching of Jesus, and through
the bread and wine of earth ask God to feed me with the
Heavenly Manna.
‘Will you, my child, try some of these ways, and not be soon
weary? In _due_ season you will reap, if you faint not.
‘Perhaps you will soon find some ways more suited to yourself
than some of those I have suggested; but you asked me. I
will try to get a beautiful prayer I have heard asking for
light. It may be that the answer will be a baptism of fire;—a
heaping coals of fire on our heads, and thus purifying us from
evil. I would say earnestly, compel yourself (though often
unwillingly), to look up to the Father, as the noblest souls
have done in all ages, whether Christian or not. You must catch
some beams of heavenly light, and see, as St. Stephen did, that
man may be glorified to stand at the Right Hand of God, and to
share with Him in carrying out His purposes of love. I think
you will be led on to see the Father revealed in the Son; to me
He is the Way, and it seems His words are true for us now: “No
man cometh _unto_ the Father (cometh near so as to see and know
Him) but by Me.”
‘May the Good Shepherd lead you to green pastures and the still
waters of comfort.’
To one who found danger and unreality in forms and ceremonies, and who
wrote: ‘I feel I am cutting myself off from you in writing like this.’
She replied:—
‘_PS._—Nothing will cut you off from me. I thought I had given
no rules, only such suggestions as a heathen philosopher might
have followed. I wrote my letter hastily; I should like to see
what I said.
‘Your letter gave me pain, which was partly selfish, to find I
was too ignorant to help you. We must have a little talk some
day.’
To one who had written that she had to fight hard against pessimism
caused by much unaccountable and apparently needless suffering. She
answered:—
‘_November 10, 1895._
‘I think our faith in God, as in any person, rests more on what
He is than what He does....
‘Now I come to the conclusion:—
‘(1) That in Nature is revealed an intelligence whose limits
we cannot see; One, _i.e._ infinitely wise and mighty. (2) In
good men we see benevolence, the earnest desire to bless up to
the limits of their power. In the Christ we see this without
any limit of selfishness, and we say, If Man, the Son, is thus
loving, then the Father is love. “No man knoweth the Father,
but the Son.” We can approach God, so as to know the character
of God, only thus, it seems to me. You have here the argument
of Saul (Browning). Then when you allege against the witness
of the heart, the facts of Nature, I answer that however
inexplicable by us these facts are, this witness for God, which
comes from within, cannot be overthrown.
‘Nor, indeed, does that fact of animals preying on one another
trouble me much. Death to them, _i.e._ the stopping of the
activities of life suddenly, whilst they are in full vigour,
seems better than the gradual decay of sickness. There is with
them no anticipation and no joy in cruelty.
‘The facts of moral evil, those are what seem to overwhelm
one at times. There are children born into such terrible
surroundings, we say. There again we can see a little way up
into the darkness, and trust. We do see that the redemption of
the lost is often effected by the knowledge that others suffer
through their sin....
‘Do we not know enough of our interests and God’s infinite
wisdom to make us trust God for the universal good? Men must be
left to work out the consequences of evil, to bear them, and
learn it is God’s purpose for them to rise out of the darkness
into increasing love of His holy will. At length regenerated
humanity will so enter into sympathy with the Spirit of God
mediated through the indwelling Christ, that things in Heaven
and earth will be recapitulated in Him the Head, and will
become intelligently and lovingly obedient to that will. The
cost of suffering is as nothing compared with the infinite
good. I can only sketch the outline of my faith.’
The letter which follows was written to a pupil who, while she was at
school, did not personally know Miss Beale very well. A talk at a Guild
meeting eleven years after she left revealed to Miss Beale’s penetrating
eye some distress caused by disillusionment and disappointment. A
fortnight afterwards she wrote:—
‘_July 1898._
‘I have so often thought of our interrupted conversation, and
must take a bit of my first Saturday evening to write a line.
‘You were feeling, I judge, somewhat as Wordsworth did when
he wrote the _Ode on Immortality._ This is, I think, how the
matter stands. When we are young, we think that perfection,
_i.e._ the ideal, can be found on earth—we set up, perhaps,
some earthly idol, and endow it with every excellence. Then
we find that we have been in a measure mistaken. What shall
we do? Doubtless there does then come upon us the shadow of
a great darkness, as we find how much evil there is, and
we are tempted to believe the lying word of Satan, that
the kingdoms of the world are his. Shall we then lower our
ideal, say we will conform to that which is, or believe the
heavenly proclamation—“the kingdoms of this world are become
the kingdoms of our Lord and of His Christ”—and work on to
make this as true as we can for our own souls, and for those
near us? We see that the ideals cannot be realised on earth,
because this is a place of discipline. Many make a worldly
marriage because they give up their ideal, and conform to what
is, instead of ever striving to bring about what ought to
be—nothing can make that right. But on the other hand we must
be content to be the companions of those who, like ourselves,
are “compassed about with infirmities,” to arm them for the
fight with evil, and to love those who are not perfect, as
Britomart did the Red Cross Knight. What I want you all to
keep before you is that one day the ideal will be realised, as
the Bible and our own hearts assure us, and to join the army
of light and go right on, confident of eventual victory. You
have, my dear child, a somewhat heavy burden of responsibility
for your age, and you miss the sustaining hand, but you must
not look down, but up! Take our first Cambridge Room motto:
“As the soar falcon, so I strive to fly,
In contemplation of the immortal sky.”
There we may look for the realisation of our earthly
endeavours, as Abt Vogler teaches. I wonder if you read
Browning. I wish you had a Browning Society.—With much
sympathy, ...’
To one who had written of the ‘Intolerance of Church people’:—
‘_July 1884._
‘ ... But it does seem to me quite impossible in education
to leave religion an open question, _i.e._, to teach without
hypothesis. How could we unite into one coherent whole the
teaching of optics, unless we presuppose the undulatory theory?
Or the facts of astronomy without the theory of gravitation?
Yet both may be, and are questioned. For some philosophical
theory must underlie all things, and no one can, it seems to
me, teach history, or geography, or science without it. We who
believe in Christian philosophy, and feel that it alone makes
the universe intelligible, and life worth living for ourselves
or others; who think that it is the power needed to give life
to the world, and to deliver us from evil and all the misery
which oppresses us, naturally desire with all the energy of
our being to teach it, and we most of us would not let little
differences hinder our working with those who acknowledge the
immeasurable blessings of Christ’s teaching. Here I found
dissenters wishing that the teaching of our College should
be Church; because they said there must be some basis; that
they would rather let their children hear sometimes what they
disagreed with, and judge for themselves, than that there
should be no definite teaching. They thought our Church was on
the whole the most liberal.
‘I am so grieved, dear friend, that any of us should bring
disgrace on our Teacher by our faults, but when we do what our
Master, the Truth, disapproved, the blame should not rest on
Him. It would not be just to you if we called a child who was
in your class and loved you, by your name when she told a lie.
Nor should you say, “See what Christians do,” when they sin
against Christ. _In so far_ as they are untruthful they are
un-Christian.
‘Then, had you not, even as you admit, condemned utterly those
whose conduct admitted of a more favourable interpretation?
We are not utterly truthful, unless we do more than act up
to our convictions, unless we do our utmost to make those
convictions as near the truth as we are able. And do you know
I felt so disappointed after talking to you the other day,
because it seemed to me as if you had not cared to search
into the depths of things, as if you were content to float
about instead of searching for the rock beneath the flood.
Our apprehension of the truth regarding the goodness of God,
and His purpose for us, and our duty to our Father and to one
another, seems to me the priceless pearl. I found you had not
read what I thought you would have read, the works in which the
ages have indeed drawn for us pictures of those who wrestled
with God in the darkness and cried—“Tell me Thy Name.” And now
you disappoint me again, as some other of my dear Agnostic
friends. They seem wanting in the tenderness of those who ever
look up to Jesus Christ, and therefore learn to feel in the
light of His example. This our miserable failure, the habitual
self-examination and definite confession of sin, helps us to.
There, I have told you what is in my heart. The former on
thinking over our conversation I meant to say, because I love
you. The latter, (the want of sympathy,) I did not know of. I
wonder if you will misunderstand me now,—perhaps,—but I have
felt you did not before.’
The following was written to a former student, who after a time of great
religious privilege had been assailed by special temptation:—
‘_August 1888._
‘MY DEAR FRIEND,—I am grieved that you have suffered so much,
and yet it was not sent you in vain. It was to correct faults
in yourself, and to help you in your vocation to correct those
in others. You did not, I feel sure, yield to the wrong, but
fought against it, and temptation is not sin.
‘I have been thinking what you could read. Do you know
Froebel’s own works? I think some of these (which are not light
reading) would be nice for you on your travels. I like always a
book that is suitable for a little reading and much thinking.
He is so bathed in the spirit of love, so deeply Christian and
so full of the spirit of liberty. When you come home you must
come and pay us a visit,—that and Rosmini I should like you to
read. I have asked Miss Gore to send you one of my photos, in
case you care to have it, when we go home.—With deep sympathy,
yours most sincerely,
D. BEALE.’
Among the letters are many to old pupils on the deaths of relations or
friends. The next was written to Miss Alice Owen, now Mrs. Mark Collet,
on the anniversary of her mother’s death:—
‘_June 1891._
‘This was a birthday eight years ago into a world of larger
scope than this, and I feel as if her spirit were still
watching over those she loved on earth....
‘Surely the tides of eternal love, flowing in upon our narrow
lives, will make us all of one spirit, sorrowing and rejoicing
with one another, instead of judging, because we feel, as she
taught in that beautiful parable, that we are one.
‘May our Lord give you an ever larger measure of His own love.’
The next letter refers to the death of Mrs. Russell Gurney:—
‘_October 1896._
‘I got a letter from Orme Square this morning. Our beloved
friend entered into rest yesterday. I think of the glad meeting
of those who were kindred souls on earth. I had also a note
from Addington saying how thankful Mrs. Benson is, and happy in
spite of her loss.’
Several other letters of a kindred nature follow.
To Miss Giles, on the death of her father:—
‘_April 1871._
‘Still in one way we who are old suffer less from parting. To
us the time seems so short, ere we may hope to meet once more
where are no more partings or tears.’
To Miss Susan Wood, on the death of her mother:—
‘_May 1880._
‘I need not tell you I have felt much for you. One could not
have wished the suffering prolonged, and yet one does not feel
the loss less. Happily, one seems generally to forget, when all
is over, the last painful incidents of the sickness, and to
remember the past years. Few have had a more devoted mother.
How proud she was of your successes! How old it makes us feel
when we take our place in the front rank of the army of life;
may we be able to say, when we too are struck down, “I have
fought a good fight.” May God bless your work, my dear child,
to the everlasting weal of those whom He has given you.’
To Miss Frances Crawley, afterwards Mrs. Wells:—
‘_July 1881._
‘I must write you one line of sympathy in this great sorrow. I
know how much you loved your dear father, and had longed for
this visit, and now there will be a great blank. You will not
think now “How glad he will be if I do well.” But on the other
hand, my dear child, you will feel you must be more than ever
to your mother. You children will be all to her now. Besides,
God never takes but He also gives—only we often miss the gift
because we don’t look for it. He will help you to know Him
better as your Father, partly because you will think of your
own father as near Him, for where our treasure is, there our
hearts are also. You will think more of pleasing Him, and so
preparing to meet those who have loved you and loved God, where
there will be no more death for ever.’
To an old pupil, on the death of her father:—
‘_November 9, 1896._
‘MY DEAR CHILD,—This is indeed a blessed death for one so good
as your father; you must give thanks for him.
‘There is no service I think so strengthening as the burial;
may you be comforted and strengthened for the battle of life
by a clearer vision of that unseen host which is ever near,
though “our eyes are holden that we see them not” through want
of faith. Soon must we join their ranks. Shall we join in their
psalms of thanksgiving?’
To Miss Strong, on the death of Miss Margaret Clarke:—
‘_February 3, 1897._
‘Indeed I am grieved; she has been a power for good, and has
sent out some grand workers, and I shall miss her greatly. I am
thankful I was with her at Christmas.
‘One feels sure “her works will follow her,” and He who gave
her power will raise up others. It is, so far as one can see,
too heavy a burden for Kate alone. Her memory will be a power,
her life was so wonderfully guided, and one feels sure she has
work to do beyond, for which the training of earth will have
prepared her.’
To Miss Rowand, on the death of her mother:—
‘_June 1901._
‘It is grievous for you and those who loved that dear and
noble, simple-minded woman, for her goodness gave unity to her
life. Now the alabaster box is broken, only the fragrance of
the life remains. She has been spared the living death such as
I have seen, when the soul finds in the body a tomb. She is
released and doubtless carries on ministries of love with your
noble father and beloved brother.
‘I have just seen Fräulein, whose only sister has just passed
away.
‘How little the sorrows of earth will seem to us as we look
back, I think; even as many which even here issue in blessing.
We realise that all things do indeed “work together for good to
them that love God,” and I know that through this fresh sorrow
the fire will burn up more and more of the earthly, so that the
spirit may shine forth more brightly “to give light to all that
are in the house.”—Yours with deep sympathy and affection.’
To Miss Caines, just before her death:—
‘_March 1901._
‘MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,—We can only pray now that if it be God’s
will you may be spared to the many who love you, and to whom
you have been a blessing during these many years of faithful
service. But if the Master should come and call for you, then
He will go with you through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.
His Rod and Staff which stay your tottering steps will comfort
you, and He will bring you forth to the light.
‘We must say for you and for ourselves;—“Jesus, I trust Thee.”
We do believe that what the world calls Death is birth into a
brighter world.
‘May we all meet again where sorrow and sighing are no
more.—With much love, your very affectionate.’
To a friend, on the death of Miss Caines:—
‘This morning my dear friend passed away, full of peace and
content to go. The children have been all that we could wish,
full of sympathy, but quietly impressed and very sorrowful.
We do not wish them to leave, but to learn to look calmly on
death, and hopefully up to Him Who has taught His servants to
triumph over death....
‘The loss to me is more than I can say. God’s will be done.’
The next letter is to Mrs. Cooper,[105] a much-loved old pupil, who in
1902 lost a son, a promising young artist, and seven months later her
husband through death:—
‘_June 1903._
‘I am sending you such a nice sermon by our good bishop, which
I think you will like. I quite agree with you that one ought
not to seek intercourse through mediums. I would never join
the Psychical Society. It was _right_ to enquire as these
scientific men have done, but the inexperienced are almost sure
to be taken in by such, and it seems to me that we ought not to
try to draw aside the veil but wait until God’s herald bids us
enter.
‘I think you must expect to feel the sense of loss becoming
greater, but then you will get to feel how short is the time of
mourning on earth, and to ascend in heart and mind—and so to
be above the storms and clouds of earth—even as the lark—and
yet with him to hover over the earthly home, “that nest which
you can drop into at will,—Those quivering limbs comprest.”
You will want to speak to and help others with the comfort
wherewith you are comforted of God....
‘It is nice to look back on that time forty years ago. I
remember your confessions to me then. Well, you have not been
forsaken, nor left to beg your bread.’
To the same:—
‘_October 1903._
‘I have just heard of this fresh trouble. Surely you must be
intended to do some work for others specially needing heart’s
blood.—This paper was put into my hands just as I heard of your
fresh disappointment and anxiety.’
To the Misses Hibbert Ware, on the death of their sister:—
‘_March 1905._
‘Indeed one ought only to give thanks for her. I think of her
looking down on us all at peace having escaped from the long
enduring pain associated with this earthly body, and springing
up like the lark into the larger heaven.
‘Well, we must wait to understand these things which it has
not entered into the heart of man to conceive in all their
joyful reality, though in some measure they are revealed here
to saintly souls which have been made partakers of Christ’s
sufferings.’
To Mrs. Mace, on the death of her husband:—
‘_May 1906._
‘Only to-day did I hear of the death of Mr. Mace.... It did
seem grievous after his suffering with so much courage and
hope the operation. One can only give thanks now that the soul
has escaped from “the body of humiliation,” through which
it has risen to the spiritual life. I don’t like the word
resurrection, ἀνάστασις does not suggest that the soul has put
on its old clothing, after being delivered from the body of
corruption. You must be glad that he is free.’
Miss Beale wrote several letters, from which extracts are given, to Miss
Belcher during her last illness.
The following was written after the Head-mistresses’ Conference on
October 8 and 9 at Oxford in 1898:—
‘_October 1898._
‘MY DEAR FRIEND,—I got home last night. Everybody was asking
and thinking about you and missing you so much. I hoped for a
line this morning; Susan will doubtless write to-day. I brought
back Agnes Body for the Sunday here. The text in my birthday
book for to-day is: “I have prayed for thee that thy faith fail
not.” I know this prayer is fulfilled for you. How I long to
have some real talk with you now; but I think even in the body
there is communion, and still more out of the body. It seems
to me as if Miss Carter must be with you. Your love and care
for her was returned in blessings on your own life, and through
you on others. Miss Strong looks ill. She has been staying with
her Bishop; that will strengthen her. That good Miss Day of
Westminster was there, and sweet Mrs. Woodhouse of Sheffield.
‘I feel sure the Conference will do good, there were so many
good women there;—only we missed _one_.’
A day or two later she wrote:—
‘MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,—I feel somewhat cheered by Susan’s letter
to-night. Each morning I have so many enquiries, “Have you
heard?” Susan is good in writing. Here are three letters from
some staying at St. Hilda’s, where we were always thinking of
you....
‘Just two years on the 11th, since the Archbishop fell asleep.
I wonder if he looks down at the school, and its first
Head-mistress too. Shall we see and be able in some measure to
“succour” those on earth? May the peace of God which passeth
all understanding be with you.’
The next alludes to a proposed visit of Miss Beale to Miss Belcher:—
‘_St. Luke’s Day._
‘DEAR FRIEND,—I am so looking forward to Friday. I thought
of you so much on this the Physician’s day, as we sang that
beautiful hymn and Psalm xxx.; and our window told of the
raising of the daughter by the Healer. My own life seems to me
almost a resurrection, I must hope that you too may be raised
up to do work on earth, ere you go to a higher sphere.’
After this visit Miss Belcher wrote:—
‘MY DEAR FRIEND,—The strength and comfort of your visit has
been with me ever since, and far from its doing me any harm it
has done me untold good. May God bless you for having imparted
to me so richly of the “comfort wherewith you yourself have
been comforted of God.” I do so trust you were not over-tired;
hope to hear from some one to-morrow.
‘Will you call me Marian in our private letters? I have never
liked being only Miss Belcher, and since the close communion
and rich gift of yesterday, I feel I should like it.’
Miss Beale’s reply was:—
‘_October 23, 1898._
‘DEAREST MARIAN,—It is good to hear that you were none the
worse for my visit, and that our Lord put into my mouth some
words of comfort. I shall hope to hear about Dr. Broadbent. I
had a nice note from Susan. All here were so glad to get news
of you direct....
‘I wonder if you know Fechner’s little book; there is one
chapter I like much, from which I am sending you some extracts.’
The next letter was written after an operation Miss Belcher had
undergone:—
‘ ... I lingered this morning, and the postman brought me
Susan’s cheerful letter, just as I was starting, and I was able
to make the service specially a Eucharist on your account.
What a wonderful epistle; it is one to feed on. It tells
how suffering strengthens the inner man, and enlarges one’s
sympathies and makes us know the love of God. And the Gospel
tells of renewed life after going down nearly to the grave.
You and I can give thanks for both; may St. Paul’s wish be
accomplished in us.’
Miss Belcher replied:—
‘_Sunday Evening._
‘MY DEAR MISS BEALE,—My first few lines written by myself must
be to you. All through last week the Epistle and your words
about it have been such a help. It was just like one of your
Scripture lessons every day all to myself. I am still going on
so well, but of course it must take time, and I am not out of
the wood. Still, as you said, all is well and will be well.
Thank you so much for Lilla’s letter. I am so sorry she is not
well, and Lucy Soulsby too. I am so rejoiced to hear you are
so well and vigorous, and that College is overflowing. How
wonderful it all is, and so inspiring.
‘I had begun Archbishop Benson’s _St. Cyprian_ and your book
before the operation, but have been too weak to read since. I
hope to begin to-morrow. If you have read anything lately you
think I should like, will you tell me the names? It must not
be philosophy. I hope to have the best papers of the Church
Congress read to me....’
Shortly after this Miss Belcher wrote herself on an anticipated visit
from another physician:—
‘MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,— ... Dr. Robson of Leeds comes to-morrow.
I know you will pray that the “right judgment” will be given.
It is thought he will operate, but not certain. Please let
Eliza and Susan Draper know. I cannot forget all I owe to
you, my friend and guide, of so many years. We have a private
celebration to-morrow at eight, but you will not get this in
time to think of us.—Ever your loving and grateful friend,
‘M. BELCHER.
‘You shall hear as soon as possible.’
* * * * *
‘_Dearest Marian_,—I have heard from Susan.... Of course we
can’t understand, and we only know that all is well. I thought
of you so much at prayers this morning. I read the Lesson
instead of the Epistle. “The souls of the righteous are in the
hands of God, and there shall no torment touch them.” We missed
your accustomed visit on the term holiday yesterday.’
* * * * *
‘_First Sunday in Advent, 1898._
‘MY VERY DEAR MARIAN,—We were all so full of hope at first,
and are much disappointed that relief has not come, but that
you are still stretched upon the cross. “No chastening for the
present seemeth to be joyous but grievous, yet at such times
one can just _think_ of the ‘Mystery of Pain,’ and realise
that each sufferer does in uniting his will with God’s in some
measure, ‘fill up that which is behind of the afflictions of
Christ ... for His body’s sake.’” I think perhaps you may be
suffering specially for one, that her faith may be once more
awakened. Every sufferer thus “lifted up” does in a measure
draw the hearts of others to Him through whom we are able to
reveal the power of faith.... I said to Miss Drummond, “I dare
say you would not have been spared any of the suffering”; she
answered so heartily, “not one half-hour.” We see now what a
wonderful work she did among the College boys, and it must be
that your suffering is a part of the work God has given you to
do for the school, and that you, too, will be enabled to say
“not one half-hour,” when the darkness passes away, and the
true light shines into the things of earth, and we know as we
are known. I know that suffering so _claims_ the attention, but
one can only know and believe, not feel it; but it is much to
live by faith. Faith is the illuminating power through which
alone we truly know. Was not Miss Carter’s suffering felt by
you to be mediatorial too, and you are her successor. I shall
try to spend a few days with Miss Martin at Christmas.
‘To-day the Jairus window comes before me; the thought of the
Lord sending away all those who pressed round the maiden, that
she might know the advent of Him who is the Lord and Giver of
life.’
The following is the last letter Miss Beale wrote to Miss Belcher:—
‘_December 5, 1898._
‘MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,—I have tried to write several times,
but tore up what I wrote. Susan is good in telling me about
you, and at times my heart sinks, when I think of all you are
suffering, though there do seem to me to be some hopeful
signs.... Well, we ought not, I suppose, to wish, we are so
sure that “in all our afflictions He is afflicted,” and “the
angel of His presence saves us,” and makes our souls strong to
bear and our “light affliction is but for a moment.”
‘I dare say this term has seemed to you unending. I think when
the strain of thinking about school is taken off, you will feel
stronger. I hope to go to Kilburn from January 5 to the 9th;
there we shall think much about you. I am just writing about
St. Hilda’s East.... Things seem going on well, I think I shall
stay there after the Retreat, and try to get more into touch.’
Enclosed in this letter were some verses from Ken’s ‘Midnight Hymn,’ with
the words, ‘I thought you might like this if awake at night.’
After Miss Belcher’s death on December 15, 1898, Miss Beale wrote to Miss
Strong: ‘Three of my noble-hearted friends gone so lately—Miss Buss, Miss
Clarke, and Marian Belcher. The road to the Dark Tower gets lonely, but
we look beyond.’
A few letters on general subjects are given. The first of these was
written to Miss Susan Wood, in 1897, in reply to an inquiry about women
teachers:—
‘I should not like to say I would have none but women teachers.
I consider a combination good, better than either men or women
only. Still, if a woman is equal in knowledge and ability, I
consider she generally teaches better than a man. If all women
are ultimately forced to go to the University, the higher
teaching will be taken out of their hands, or else women will
teach there.’
The following extract, from a letter to Miss Sturge in October 1902,
deals with the developments of the College:—
‘The numbers enable us to have an aggregate of schools and to
have virtually about seven who might have and ought—Headships
elsewhere, had they not an independent sphere of their own.
‘Lastly, are you right in saying that an inspiring personality
can be taken away? The inspiration is not from any person
who can pass away; we are but the earthen vessels; the light
persists and is given just so long as it is needed, to any one
who has to give light. The inspiration for the Headship will be
given to my successor in turn....
‘I do hope God may allow me to go on longer, and it is a
comfort to feel that you are glad I should.
‘As regards the growing size of the College. I may add in
addition to what I have said, that I have never wished
independently to add to the size merely, and that in each
development I have felt I was obliged to go on, though often
I dreaded it; _e.g._ the training of teachers could not be
refused when Miss Newman offered. Then the Kindergarten grew
up, and the elementary teachers was really forced on one. It
is unprofitable in money (the Elementary School Department),
and a great strain on me, but I feel we have to do this special
work. In fact, it is not our work, but we are set here by the
great Captain, and I trust we are taking our share in advancing
somewhat the kingdom of truth and righteousness. I cannot see
that in this erection of buildings, or in any other way, we are
acting from self, but under direction. I have not yet read the
comments on the buildings, but wanted to reply to the letter at
once.’
The following was written to Bishop Fraser of Manchester, who had
publicly referred with approbation to the saying of Thucydides, that
‘that woman was most to be admired who was least spoken of whether for
good or evil’:—
‘_December 1878._
‘MY LORD,—We owe to you so much for education work that I
cannot but feel sorry you should by your recent quotation
from Thucydides place before women a standard lower than the
highest. I felt bound to protest against it, when a few days
later I read a paper before the Social Science Congress in my
own schoolroom.
‘Will the excuse be received from us: “I was afraid of being
spoken of for good, and so I hid my talent in a napkin?” Must
we not expect that our work will be measured, as was that of
another woman by the words, “She hath done what she could?” I
venture to enclose a few lines from an article of mine, signed
“A Utopian,” in a Fraser[106] of 1866. It was provoked by the
same quotation from Thucydides in a _Quarterly_ of that year.—I
am, my Lord, yours with sincere respect and esteem,
D. BEALE.’
To Mrs. Ashley Smith, at that date Miss Lucy Hall, a relation of Bishop
Fraser’s, on the same subject:—
‘_December 12, 1878._
‘DEAR LUCY,—I was glad to hear you thought you could be of
use in the Board School. Could you not teach the boys some
mathematics? If you could, I will send you an amusing book
about Euclid.
‘I have asked Miss Gore to send you a copy of what I wrote to
the Bishop. I think he should have got his secretary just to
send me a line. I did not do it in a perky spirit, but I felt
bound to protest, and having protested, I thought I should
rather say to him, why. Many women do leave undone the things
they ought to do, because they shrink from coming forward. I
have done so myself. If he would preach that we should do what
we ought in God’s sight, and never trouble our heads about what
people say, when our conscience speaks, it would be better.
Perhaps he will think twice before he again quotes that, and if
so, I shall be satisfied. I would not care, if he were not so
good and clever that people listen to what he says. He is, too,
not conventional, yet he says what may promote a wrong kind of
conventionality. I have since seen such a nice bit of a sermon
about the idle lives that women lead; so if you do see him, I
should like you to ask him about this too.
‘You must let me know when you really get to work as manager.’
To Miss Laurie, after reading _Pasteur’s Life_:—
‘_1902._
‘I want to have a general conference about organising our
Science work better; we are using razors for stone-cutting.
I should like a great deal of the correcting taken from the
“Professoriate,” and young specialists entrusted with work
under superintendence. Talk with M. Reid and A. Johnson. We
ought to let our superior minds “expatiate,” and let me have a
few notes, as I can’t talk much now. We might bring up a body
of inspirers as well as workers. Pasteur’s life has specially
excited me to ask what more we could do. The teachers ought to
read more of the lives of discoverers, _e.g._ Lodge (though
that is too slight, _History of Matter_, etc. etc.).
‘If there are disadvantages in the London changes, at least I
hope we shall get more liberty; let us try to find “a soul of
goodness in things evil.”
‘What a beautiful character is Pasteur’s. I find it quite a
Sunday book.’
To Miss Nixon, on Henry George’s _Progress and Poverty_:—
‘_April 1884._
‘I am sorry to have given you pain, but I do hope you will read
the writings of those who understand political economy better
than we do. I think if you had read about the evils which
preceded the abolition of the old Poor Law, you would have seen
why I cannot approve Mr. George’s plans, and not thought that
I desire less than you do that these miseries of the people
should be lessened. It is so important for us teachers to try
to get right views about history; to pray by our acts that we
may have “a right judgment in all things.”
‘It is more pathetic than anything to see people led by false
hopes to follow wandering fires to their destruction; and
such, I am sure, are some of the new lights. The history of
the Crusades and the French Revolution ought not to have been
written in vain for us. There are three articles that I think
you ought to read,—the Duke of Argyle’s, Mr. Herbert Spencer’s,
and Mr. Brodrick’s, in the last _Nineteenth Century_ and
_Contemporary_.
‘Reforms I _earnestly_ desire on laws of succession, land
transfer, etc. etc., but I am sure that no external bettering
of conditions can do good without this is the outcome of right
principles, and that people can be raised only by raising the
moral standard of all. Perhaps we may have time to talk some
day.
To Mr. Coates after a lecture he had given at Cheltenham:—
‘_July 1888._
‘DEAR MR. COATES,— ... What I especially regretted was that the
lecture raised a number of questions to which it furnished no
answers, but seemed to me to suggest erroneous ones; words were
used which were not defined.
‘(1) Persecution; (2) Official dignity; (3) Rights of the
individual in relation to the community.
‘(1) Now as regards persecution, you said people could not, if
they were in earnest, help persecuting. That was equivalent
to the assertion that persecution was right; but you did not
say what you understood by persecution. Everything depends on
that to girls accustomed to associate persecution with bodily
torture. I think what you said would suggest wrong ideas. I
can’t agree with your general proposition, but of course I may
be wrong.
‘(2) “A Dog in Office” is to me a different being from one who
has not been appointed to the charge. He feels it, and I feel
it. He respects himself more, and by his “investiture,” though
it be only by a costermonger, he becomes capable of acts of
which he would otherwise have been incapable, and his bearing,
in combination with his legitimate title derived from the owner
of the barrow, obtains recognition from all the street curs.
‘I may, of course, be superstitious, but I do regard a
consecrated king, a President elected deliberately by a great
nation, a man solemnly set apart to serve a church, as in some
sense different from others. It seems to me that this is a
matter of some importance in these days, when the sacredness of
human relationships is called in question. I think we teachers
cannot feel too strongly the duty of doing for thought what
the feudal lords did for material forces in erecting bulwarks
or breakwaters against the floods of undisciplined opinions in
question, passion clothed in rags of thought. We want, like the
old alchemists, to make the indeterminate clouds of smoke like
actual forms.
‘I do not think you and I really differ, but I suppose the
fact of my having a little kingdom has aggravated my sense of
responsibility, and I can’t help always regarding teaching
as purposeful. I hold in abhorrence the maxim “Art for Art’s
sake.” I _always_ want it to have a purifying influence on the
character. I believe you do the same, only you are afraid of
“preaching.”
‘You will be saying, “I wish some one else shared my aversion,”
so I will spare you No. 3. I hope you will not misunderstand
me.’
To Mrs. Rix:—
‘_January 1891._
‘It is always an anxious thing when people of different nations
marry....
‘I hope your good husband will not desert his post. I feel
sure these scientific things were given us to prevent our
feeling crushed by the weight of the “unintelligible world”
of philosophy, and the atonement of science and philosophy is
the work of our age—through nature we have to go to find the
spiritual Christ. Poor Mr. Lant Carpenter. I wonder if it was
the Sphinx who killed him.’
To Sir Joshua Fitch, after the death of Miss Buss:—
‘_July (?) 1897._