Chapter XVI: Letters (1)

‘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._