Chapter XVI: Letters (2)

‘ ... 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._

‘I have been thinking what I could write to you about Miss
Buss. I don’t think I could send you anything that would help
in an article, or say much more than I have in the Guardian. I
am spoken of as her life-long friend, but I did not know her
until long after I came to Cheltenham, a little before you
joined our Council. It is said in many papers that I attended
with her the evening classes at Queen’s College. I never did.
She assisted at the evolution which transformed our governing
body from a local Committee to what it is now, and by getting
an enlarged Council we were saved from dying of atrophy....

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

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

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

‘The formation of the Head-mistresses’ Association was entirely
due to her. The first meeting, and, I think, the second was
held at Myra Lodge. She was very anxious about the “Teachers’
Guild.”

‘I sat with her on the Council of the Church Schools’ Company,
and was surprised at the amount of time and thought she gave
to it. With such solicitude she used to say, “My dear, we must
help these young Head-mistresses.” Whenever any school-mistress
got into difficulties she was of such sympathy and help.

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

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

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

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

‘I think, having a Boarding House as well as a School was a
mistake, and she felt it so at last. It was impossible for her
to attend to it much herself; and I think she should not have
rushed off on foreign tours at Christmas.

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

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

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

Miss Beale wrote but little about herself, but in her correspondence with an intimate friend, she would give glimpses of her own personal life, even of her doings, as well as of her thought and reading. Her letters to Miss Amy Giles are the most interesting from this point of view, covering as they do the last period of her life. Some extracts from these are given:—

‘_July 6, 1897._

‘DEAR AMY,—I wonder what you will do now that you have quite
lost your beloved mother. I was talking with Miss Sewell about
you, and said I wished you could come and spend a week here....
If you came the week after next, perhaps you would like to stay
for our Quiet Days at the end.’

To the same:—

‘_August 15, 1897._

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