Chapter IV: Friendships

“A true friend is one that makes us do all we can; those who
trust us, educate us.”

“To _have_ friends one must _be_ a friend,” was true of this life on both sides. She _was_ a friend, and she _had_ friends in abundance. Of her women-friends we have had full proof, and we may count almost as many men who mourn her loss with feeling scarcely less intense. Many who are less known to fame will echo words like these from some of the leaders in education. The Bishop of Winchester writes of her as “one of the truest, wisest, and ablest women it has ever been my privilege to know and esteem as a friend.” Dr. W. G. Bell, of Cambridge, adds, “Only those who had the privilege of being called her friend realized how faithful she was to her friendships, as well as loyal to the work which was so dear to her.” Dr. Wormell, on hearing of the fatal nature of her illness, speaks from a full heart—

“The news you give me fills me with sadness. Miss Buss gave me
her helping hand and cheering smile when I had few friends, and
had scarcely crept from obscurity. It is not easy for me to say
what is the depth and length and breadth of my affection for
her—in all dimensions it is beyond measure. I grieve as one who
suffers irreparable loss, and can scarcely ask myself what of
others who have been closer to her?”

Dr. Hiron says that—

“illness prevents the privilege of joining those who will gather
in large numbers to do her honour. But though not present in
person I shall be with them in spirit, and in the hearty desire
to give to her of the fullest appreciation of her personal
qualities and of her great services to the cause of education,
particularly of the higher education of women.

“I first met her at Dr. Hodgson’s, nearly twenty-five years ago.
For many years I saw a great deal of her, especially at the time
when I was secretary of the Girls’ Public Day School Company.
From the first I was profoundly impressed by her insight into
educational problems, but, most of all, by her devotion, heart
and soul, to the work to which she had put her hand.”

Mr. Storr speaks not only as an educationalist but as a friend—

“I mourn a very old and very true friend. I always felt with her
that, differ as we might—and we often differed on educational
politics—she was absolutely single-eyed, and her judgment was
never warped by personal ambition or _arrière pensée_. My girls,
as you know, were greatly attached to her, and I owe her much as
having set them the example of a noble-minded, generous,
great-souled woman.”

Her influence over young men, the friends of her nephews, or brothers of her pupils, was very remarkable, and it would not be easy to count the number who can add to the words of one of the college friends of the Rev. Francis F. Buss—

“To me your aunt’s friendship was a most valued privilege, and I
owe very much to her both on account of her personal influence
over me, and the many pleasant friendships she made for me; and
last, but not least, that she was one of the first people to
introduce me to ladies’ society at all.”

Her letters to her nephew while at Cambridge quite explain this influence. She was not in the least afraid of young men, but was her own real true self always, thus touching the reality below their surface pretences. Here is one of her grave letters—

“I am very deep in work, but I manage to find time for you, and
to think of you and your approaching ordination. You are about
to take the most serious step in your life, and I hope and pray
that it may be blessed to you and to those among whom you may
have to work during the rest of your life. It is a noble
profession, but one that entails much self-control and
self-sacrifice. But if you think chiefly of the work to which
you are called, and not of yourself, you will be useful and
happy. You must not think too much about what people may say or
think of you, but simply do your work faithfully and leave the
results. You are disposed to mind ‘Mrs. Grundy’ too much, my
very dear boy, but this is not a good thing if carried to
excess. To be careful in imagination, to put one’s self into the
place of another, is right, but this is the opposite of minding
‘Mrs. Grundy.’”

These letters are full of wisdom as well as of tender thoughtfulness. She wanted him to profit to the full by the advantages which she esteemed so highly.

“At Cambridge, more than anywhere else,” she says (for the
moment forgetting Oxford), “is to be found the highest product,
so far, of human civilization. Men there get the highest culture
ever yet attained, and the ‘Dons’ are also the most finished
gentlemen. There is an indescribable something in the bearing,
air, tone of voice even, of a Cambridge man which I believe he
never loses all his life. But the men are most courteous towards
women: that is one distinct mark of their training. I have never
heard a rough word nor seen a rough act towards women, and I
want you to become such a man as the best men in your
University.”

At the same time she is interested in the smallest details of the new life, as when she writes—

“It was a great delight to me to see you in your rooms. But the
sofa is rather shabby. Shall I send you an Afghan rug to throw
over it? Tell me. Perhaps you would rather choose one for
yourself?”

But of all the friends of whom she thought and for whom she cared time would fail to tell. Her sky was full of “bright particular stars,” each moving in its own orbit. Perhaps her regard may have been most fixed by the “double-stars,” of which there were many brilliant examples. Her “dual friendships” seemed to have doubled strength and joy for her. It was either that her friends married to please her as well as each other, or that she could at the same time include divergent characters; but all her life she was singularly happy in her married friends.

Her ideal of family life was high, as we see from an interesting letter written from Bonaly in September, 1877—

“As I travelled here, on Tuesday, by way of Kendal and Carlisle,
my mind was full of you. You remember our journey together to
Edinburgh? I left Salisbury, on Monday, in a dreadful storm of
rain. It is much colder here. Along the road, it was quite
sorrowful to see the sheaves of corn standing in water! Whole
fields, too, are lying under water.

“During my railway journey here, and one last Saturday to
Cheltenham, I read ‘Kingsley’s Life.’ It is intensely
interesting, and is to me like a strong tonic. It braces one up
and leaves strength behind. How he suffered in middle life, and
how bravely he bore up, under undeserved blame, is all told, and
how loving, tender, and faithful he was as a husband.

“His married life is a beautiful poem. Mrs. Kingsley was
everything to him. For her sake, he revered all womanhood. One
of his children speaks of the happy evenings at Eversley Rectory
when ‘father sat with his hand in mother’s,’ and poured out his
brave, strong words for wife and children only.

“I esteem it one of the proud moments in my life, when Canon
Kingsley thought it worth while to stand and talk with Miss
Chessar and me about our school, and expressed his wish to visit
us—a wish never fulfilled. His life is so much more after my
heart than Harriet Martineau’s, which I have also been looking
at. Her strictures on men and women are so harsh—there was
little love and tenderness in her nature, and she seems always
to say hard things—things which leave a sting behind. I shudder
at her absence of all belief, and wonder how she could bear life
after ceasing to believe in a personal God and immortality.
Kingsley’s life is an antidote to hers.”

In early days Mr. and Mrs. Laing held equal rank in her regard. Then her brothers—her _friends_ as well as kin—gave her dear friends as well as loved sisters in their wives. Here is a pretty little note which was written on their wedding-day to Mr. and Mrs. Septimus Buss, addressed to “Dear old boy—Dear little ‘coz.’” After describing the later events of the wedding-day, she says of the wife of the vicar—

“Mrs. N. is a dear! She said she was much interested in your
wedding, as she had a hand in it, and liked old Sep, and she
spoke so nicely about him in particular, and things in general,
that I fell in love with her; and then, to complete her victory,
she admired Léonie, my dear ‘old’ sister. Now, did she not go
the right way to win me for ever?”

She had not lost this sprightly style in writing, in 1873, of the change which took the Rev. Septimus Buss from the chaplaincy of St. Pancras Workhouse to the Rectory of Wapping—

“‘Many a time and oft’ have I thought of you and wished to be a
bird, that I might fly to you. But even you cannot guess what
the last fortnight has been!

“I was dictating this morning ‘du déplorable sort des choses
humaines, qui veut qu’au succès social soient toujours mêlées
des disgrâces, et que nos joies soient toujours accompagnées de
tristesses.’

“My dear boy Sep has a living offered him by the bishop—at last!
The great desire of my heart (outside the work—well, no!—inside
everything) has been to see him out of the workhouse! Well, he
is to go to Wapping.... How true it is that nothing is simple
and single....”

In 1881 she writes to the Rev. Septimus Buss on his transference to the Vicarage of Shoreditch—

“I am so thankful to know of your promotion. You both deserve
it, for you are model parish chiefs. Shoreditch must be very
poor, judging from the little one sees in passing through
it—only I suppose it is not damp. Dear little mother, I hope you
will like the place. Anyhow, it is better than Wapping.”

Of another dual friendship we have a charming glimpse in a note to Dr. J. G. Fitch, in response to the gift of his first book—

“Since seeing you, I have looked at the dedication, and am much
touched by it.

“It is a great privilege and happiness to know such a home as
yours.

“Lately, I have been talking to my young people about women’s
duties, and I quoted Mills’ dedication to ‘Liberty,’ De
Toqueville’s tribute to his wife, and others. Yours is but
another example of the wife’s ‘work and counsel’ which enables a
man to do and ‘write things useful.’

“I thank you most warmly for the book itself, for the kind words
with which it was accompanied, and I also thank you for the
dedication, because, through the ‘dearest wife,’ it is a tribute
to all women.”

Also in the home of Dr. and Mrs. Hodgson, she found full scope for the strong element of romance which never died out of her nature. Some part of her holiday was always spent with them, and she expanded to the full in these congenial surroundings. They lived for a time in London; then at Bournemouth, where Mrs. Hodgson went to be near her father, Sir Joshua Walmsley; and finally at Bonaly, when Dr. Hodgson filled the Chair of Economic Science in Edinburgh, each home being more charming than the last.

She first writes of these visits to me in 1872—

“My Bournemouth visit has been most pleasant, as indeed my
visits to Mrs. Hodgson always are. She is one of the most
lovable, loving, and unselfish women I know, and her home-life
is a constant lesson. She is one of those whom I dearly love,
and who are necessary to me. Yet, seven years ago, I did not
know her. Her father’s illness and death have tried her much
lately, and Dr. Hodgson’s absence in Edinburgh throws much
responsibility on her.”

In 1858, Dr. Hodgson was Assistant-Commissioner on the First Royal Commission of Inquiry into Primary Education, and he probably became interested in Miss Buss in connection with her evidence before the Secondary Commission, in 1865. After that date, he gave his lectures on Physiology and Political Economy in her school, and acquaintance ripened into friendship. Three thick note-books, in her own writing, testify to her interest in the lectures, as well as to her indomitable energy and industry.

In 1873, she says—

“The temptation to go to Bradford is immense. My dear friend,
Dr. Hodgson, who has done more for me intellectually than any
man, except Mr. Laing, in my whole life, is president! But to go
from Friday to Monday would hardly be of any use, would it? And
I could not be absent a week. Can we find out _when_ the papers
are read?

“I am so driven! It is really dreadful, and I feel so weary that
I can hardly bear myself. But when the machine is once wound up
and set going, I get better.

“I fear that Bradford meeting will clash with our Board meeting.
October 8th, is it not? Our meeting will be very important, and
I must have _hours_ of leisure to compare the schemes and
annotate them.”

During Dr. Hodgson’s residence in London, before going to Bournemouth, his house was full of interest to Miss Buss, taking the same place in her life as Mr. Laing’s had done as a meeting-point for persons with whom she was in sympathy. Dr. Hiron mentions one eventful dinner-party, which began the friendship between Mr. and Mrs. Fitch and Miss Buss, as well as with himself.

There are a few words to her sister, which show the influence of Dr. Hodgson from 1865, and onwards—

“1865.

“Miss Davies has asked me to meet Miss Clough of Ambleside (who
drew up a plan for co-operation among teachers), Miss Bostock,
and other educational ladies. I cannot help feeling that our new
friend, to whom I am so devoted and grateful, has had greatly to
do with my position lately. It is almost indefinable, but it
would seem as if he had set a stamp on me, so to speak.
Certainly the Cambridge Examination did something—introduced me
to him, for example—but it is only since Christmas that so many
little courtesies have been paid me, officially, I mean. Only
one other person so helped me.”

In some early letters we have descriptions of life at Bonaly Tower, which indicate the kind of letters she might have written if life had been less hurried—

“Newcastle-on-Tyne, Jan. 7, 1873.

“I liked Mr. Knox quite as much last Wednesday. He gave me a
hearty welcome, and asked most affectionately for you. From what
Dr. Hodgson says, he is not doing so much on the Merchants’
Company Schools as he was. I lunched at Mr. Pryde’s house, and
then went with him and Mrs. Pryde to the ‘Women’s Medical
Educational Meeting.’ For the first time I heard Miss Jex-Blake
speak; she spoke well. Mr. P. seems sensible and liberal in his
ideas. When you and I were in Edinburgh, it seems Mrs. P. and
two of their children had scarlet fever, and he himself was in
lodgings, away from ‘his own fireside.’ Mrs. P. is quite
‘advanced,’ and, as her husband said, ‘is the most refractory
parent’ he has to do with. ‘She was always wanting something’
(he said before her), ‘or not wanting something else.’ She did
not like her girls to learn so much writing or sewing, for
instance. Their second girl is to be brought up for medicine.
So, you see, Mr. and Mrs. P. must be advanced.

“One day last week, we, _i.e._ Mrs. H., Dr. H., and I went to
lunch with Mrs. MacLaren. Mr. M. is Member for Edinburgh, and
Mrs. and Miss M., as you will perhaps remember, are working for
the Women’s Suffrage. I met there Dr. Guthrie’s youngest son, a
very fine young man, who made a strong impression on me. He is
evidently as fine in mind as in person.”

In speaking of her visits, she had always much to say of the interesting persons whom she met at Bonaly, and of the talk she so thoroughly appreciated, well described under the heading, “The Professor at the Breakfast-Table,” in Mr. Meiklejohn’s “Life of Dr. Hodgson,” as—

“the sparkling table-talk, apt illustration, and racy anecdote
with which the doctor enlivened all the time we sat at table.
Without monopolizing the talk, he never allowed it to flag; and
by manifesting the kindliest interest in the sayings and doings
of all, he induced even the shyest to take his part in a manner
that must have astonished him when he came to look back upon
it.”

Mrs. Hodgson, too, had so much grace and kindness that even this shyest of her guests was made so much at home as to be “led to imagine that he must have sat in that particular corner hundreds of times before, though now for the first time conscious of it.”

Another of Miss Buss’ letters (Sept. 8, 1874) gives an account of the place itself—

“Bonaly, Sept. 8, 1874.

“Edinburgh, to me, is full of you! So you have been constantly
in my mind since my arrival here, last Friday night.

“Bonaly is five miles out of Edinburgh, but, on a clear day,
there is a splendid view of town, castle, and Arthur’s Seat.
Only, a ‘clear day’ is not a common article, for, since Friday,
I have seen little external sunshine, though, inside, there is
plenty. But Mrs. Hodgson herself is confined to bed, and looks
so fragile that a breath might blow her away. We trust, however,
that she ‘has turned the corner,’ as the doctor says she may be
taken into another room to-day....

“This house is beautifully situated in twenty-eight acres of its
own grounds, and there are hills upon hills all round, except on
the Edinburgh side. Two tiny mountain ‘burns,’ or streams, run
through the grounds, with that constant blue haze over them—a
touch of beauty which we got rarely in the Alps. In these
northern latitudes, it seems to me that there never is the
clear, cloudless sky which we know as the _Italian_, but there
is another kind of beauty—that of the greyish-blue haze which
envelopes everything with a soft and indescribably beautiful
mantle.

“In consequence of Mrs. Hodgson’s health, I left my dear boy at
home, but if he had come, he and George (Dr. H.’s son) would
have been happy together.

“Mr. Knox is expected here on Thursday. He has been asked to
meet me, and I hope he will come. How much you and I liked him.
Miss Blyth is also invited.

“I am writing in the midst of snatches of talk, which makes it
difficult to know what I am writing, but you will not mind jerky
sentences, with no particular thread of connection?...

“There is a capital article on Woman’s Suffrage in this month’s
_Macmillan_; it is by Prof. Cairnes, in answer to Goldwin
Smith’s attack. You do not care so much for this question as I
do, so will scarcely feel the same interest in it.

“Is Agnes pretty well? What is she doing, I wonder? Will you
give her my dear love when you write? There is a very charming
letter from Miss Hierta to me, which shall be sent to you when I
know where you are. What a very sweet woman she is!

“My Hythe holiday was very pleasant; we were such a large family
party. Did I tell you what darlings Frank’s brothers are? Arthur
(six years old) is quite a picture of infant beauty, with his
blue eyes and curly golden hair; and he says such funny things
and makes droll mistakes. He rushed at me once, saying, ‘Arnie,
look at my _apostles_!’ ‘Your what?’ ‘Apostles.’ I found he
meant _fossils_!

“Another day he was reading: ‘And she sung a—a _hullabaloo_!’ He
meant _lullaby_.

“Then the baby-boy, whose only experience of trees and green
grass is the disused churchyard at Wapping, insisted on calling
every green field and clump of trees a ‘nice churchyard!’ Was it
not pathetic?

“If you are writing to Miss Hopkins, please remember me most
kindly to her, and tell her I congratulate her on Miss
Robinson’s success: no doubt she has largely contributed to it.

“I see Miss Robinson has gained her point, and there is really a
Soldier’s Institute at Portsmouth. The military element is
strong at Hythe, in the School of Musketry, and we can see how
it is that the scarlet uniform and gold trimmings are so
popular. To poor people the fine clothes and certain pay must be
very attractive. Contrast the dress and appearance of an
agricultural labourer with that of the labourer who has
enlisted! And then think of the easy life of the latter. Do not
fancy _my_ estimate of soldiers is altered. I am looking at them
from the point of view of the very poor, to whom to have a
soldier son or brother must be a grand promotion.

“Mr. Knox came here on Thursday. I like him still very much, and
he likes you and me. He asked most kindly after you. He also
sent a copy of ‘A Night and Day on board the _Mars_’ to be
forwarded to you, which I duly sent off. You know he is a
staunch teetotaller, and is working desperately in the cause. He
said he had known seventy-five men, of his _own_ position,
ruined by drink, and Dr. Hodgson told me afterwards that this
was no exaggeration. The vice of drunkenness seems to prevail
here more than in London, at least one hears more of it.

“Mr. Knox has nothing now to do with the Company’s schools, but
has given himself up to rescuing _boys_ (I asked him where were
the _girls_?), and has been violently attacked for _kidnapping_
them. An absurd charge, of course. I fear he is not cold and
hardheaded, like the typical Scotchman. But, all the same, I
like him whenever I see him.

“How true is what you say about the money matters of women! But
we are breaking through many of these things, and a later
generation of women will know what independence means. I hope
they will use it properly, for, after all, we cannot be
independent of each other. We have to live in a community.”

“Bonaly, Sept. 8, 1874.

“Your long and interesting letter has just come, dear Annie,
after one from me to you is written, sealed up, and put in the
post-bag.

“I will read the letter in the _Spectator_. It seems to me that
Tyndall only says what you say, namely, that science, so far as
he knows, cannot _prove_ God and immortality. But I do not see
why he need have said as much as he did, except that he is
essentially _aggressive_.

“That people are unjust to him, I admit, and that this ignorance
of his subject and injustice drive him to attack.”

“Bonaly, Sept. 14, 1874.

“I return Mr. S.’s letter, with which Dr. Hodgson was much
amused, as was I. He admired J.’s poem, _Vivia Perpetua_, very
much, and said how good and sweet it was. He also begged me to
ask her whether she knows the ‘Vivia Perpetua’ of Mrs. Flower
Adams, whose sister Sarah is well known for her hymns. He
thought J.’s little poem might well do prefixed to the drama by
Mrs. Adams.

“My dear Mrs. Hodgson is still in bed, where she lies so
patiently that she is a living lesson to me. It is curious, but
she always makes me feel gentle and soft—a lesson I constantly
need, and no one else produces the same effect on me. Had I seen
her before my interview with E. D., the latter would not have
been frightened at my—what shall I say?—_violence!_

“You have a mesmerizing effect on me, but your influence is
quite different—more on the intellectual side, I think. Mrs.
Hodgson is the sweetest, brightest, most fairy-like woman I have
ever known; and the points of contact between her and me are so
many. I have such strong affection and respect for her
husband—he is _so clever_, and inspires one with a kind of awe
for his knowledge (which is in a line I can follow), his
brilliancy, his wonderful power of expression, his tenderness,
his extreme conscientiousness, and his resource. But no one
would venture to take a liberty with him, and I can well imagine
the respectful awe in which his pupils hold him. Then the eldest
boy is so near Frank’s age, and I have had so much to do with
him that he is very dear to me. The two little girls are
perfectly charming.

“Then the house is full of books, pictures, statues, busts, etc.
Every side of my taste is represented, and the books especially
are always delightful to me. I suppose the collection of
educational works is quite unique. Dr. H.’s religious views are
very independent of theology; but, as I have said, he is
intensely reverent, and respects other people’s opinions. His
popularity with his Class in University is immense, as I heard
on Saturday, and I can well understand it is so.

“Mrs. H. is one of those women who is absolutely unselfish. Her
unselfishness extends _beyond_ husband and children, and she can
always speak that soft word that turns away wrath. They are well
matched. She is dependent and clinging, in the best sense, and
he is intensely strong....

“I should like some copies of J.’s ‘Lady Jane Grey.’ Will you
give her my love and ask her?

“When I get home I must get a copy of ‘Hertha’ from Mudie’s. I
know there is one there.

“I shall get back (D.V.) refreshed in every way—intellectually,
physically and morally, and spiritually too, I hope.”

In 1880 came the end of this bright chapter of her life. The death of Dr. Hodgson brought back the sufferings of the earlier loss in 1860, when Mr. Laing’s death left so great a blank. Between 1875 and 1880 Miss Buss had lost her father, and Mr. and Mrs. Payne, and now came the death of Dr. Hodgson and Miss Chessar in the same month, to all of whom she had been linked not only by the ordinary ties of life, in more than ordinary strength, but also by very special sympathy in her personal work.

Extracts from her letters tell their own story. She and Dr. Hodgson, with Miss Chessar, Miss Caroline Haddon, Miss Franks, and some others, had gone to a great educational congress held in Brussels, in which many of them were to take active part. On August 21 Miss Buss writes to her sister—

“A very pleasant journey yesterday. The water quite smooth, and
hardly any one ill. We are at present fourteen people and are
shaking down. I am now going to the Bureau to get my ticket for
the Teachers’ Conference, and then to the Exhibition.”

“Aug. 23.

“I am sorry to tell you that Dr. Hodgson is very ill. He has had
to come to our place, as really he could not be left. I am now
writing for an English doctor. If necessary, I must telegraph to
Mrs. Hodgson, or, if possible, must return with him to London,
telegraphing for her to meet him. It is very sad. He thinks it
is some heart affection, but no one can tell till the doctor has
been.”

“Aug. 24.

“Dr. H. is so ill that it is feared he will die.

“I have telegrammed to Mrs. Hodgson, but she cannot get here
till to-night at the earliest. I have been praying most
earnestly that he may live to see her. His lungs are congested,
and he breathes just as our father used to do.

“I have now been with him thirty hours, but a most kind and
experienced teacher, Mr. Harris, a friend of Miss Haddon’s, is
chief nurse.”

On August 17, before leaving Edinburgh, Dr. Hodgson had written to his friend Mr. A. Ireland—

“My courage fails me as the time draws near for going to
Belgium. For the first time in my life the thought of illness
away from home hangs upon me. I have had queer sensations and
pains in the heart.... The educational conference lasts from the
22nd to 29th inst. I have just received a huge 8vo. volume of
1000 pages, and 3 lbs. 9½ ozs. in weight, containing preliminary
reports for the six sections into which the conference is
divided.”

While in London he consulted a medical man, who assured him that he was suffering only from indigestion.

But the fatigue and heat of travelling brought on attack after attack of _angina pectoris_, and on the evening of August 24 the end came.

Of this terrible three days Miss Buss writes—

“I do not think there has ever been so awful a time in my life;
in other griefs my brothers were by my side, and able to help.
In this, everything has fallen on me, and in a foreign country,
too. Had it not been for Miss C. Haddon and Mr. Harris it would
not have been physically possible for me to bear what I have had
to go through. Also the girls of my party were very helpful.

“Dear Mrs. Hodgson does not, as she says, at present understand
things. It is a dream to her: she arrived just twelve hours too
late.

“It is too real to me to be a dream; his dear voice is still
sounding in my ears; he was so patient and so grateful, thanking
us all each time we gave him seltzer-water, etc.

“But I had no idea of death till within a few hours of the end.

“I was with him just thirty-seven hours. He called for me at
five o’clock on Monday morning. I went at once and gave him some
brandy, and then sent for the doctor while Miss Chessar stayed
with him.

“Dearest mother, I long to have you and my boy safe in my
arms—to make sure of you both.

“How I loved my dear friend no words can express. How glad I was
to have him as my guest, and to travel with him! Such an
opportunity had never occurred before.”

From this date some part of Miss Buss’ holiday was always spent with Mrs. Hodgson, whose own words, after her friend had been taken from her, show what this friendship was to her also,

“You ask me to tell you something of my friendship with Miss
Buss. I could only do so by giving you a long list of kindnesses
received from her, kindnesses which made one wonder how a woman
leading such a busy life could remember such things as
birthdays, not only of one’s own, but of one’s children and
grandchildren, none of whom were ever forgotten. The terrible
anxiety she went through at Brussels in 1880, during the
Educational Congress there, must have told heavily on her
nerves, already sorely taxed. My husband went with her to
Brussels, and when she found him ill and suffering at his hotel,
she took him to her lodgings and gave up one of her rooms, which
at that time were very difficult to get, Brussels being very
full, and devoted herself to nursing him night and day for the
short and fatal illness. I can never tell you of all she went
through to help me, but can only say that when we arrived at
Bonaly Tower, near Edinburgh, where we brought our beloved, she
was very ill, the result of what she had gone through, not only
to nurse her old friend, but when all was over to help and
comfort me, utterly forgetful of self. Ever since that sad time
she has been more than a sister to me. I fear now I took
advantage of her wonderful goodness, her wise judgment, her
strict sense of justice, her unselfishness, and learned more and
more to consult her, who was the friend and helper of all who
stood in need of help. To me her loss is irreparable, and I
believe I am only one of a great many who went to her in times
of trouble.”

But this sorrowful experience was not the only grief of that year, for Miss Chessar never left Brussels again, surviving Dr. Hodgson less than a month. She had not been strong, but no one had in the least anticipated anything serious, and this second blow, following so closely on the first, greatly affected Miss Buss, who thus lost by one stroke the two persons who were the greatest help and strength in her work. Like herself, they were both teachers of remarkable power, and the three friends had set themselves to raise the general standard of teaching, while at the same time their sympathies in other directions cemented a close friendship.

The force of this double loss is given very clearly in the replies from Mrs. Grey and Miss Shirreff to letters from Miss Buss, these letters themselves not being attainable—

“Meran,
“Sept. 20, 1880.

“MY DEAR MISS BUSS,

“It was only yesterday that we heard, from Miss Brough, of
the death of Miss Chessar, and I write in both our names to
express our deep and affectionate sympathy with you in this
second, and, I fear, even heavier loss, coming so soon after Dr.
Hodgson’s death. Our own sense of loss is very heavy; though we
knew her so little in private life, she had inspired us with
real and warm personal regard, besides admiration for her
remarkable powers. We are anxious that a fitting obituary notice
should appear in the _Journal_, if it is not already done, and
have written to Miss Brough to get it done. Will you help her to
do full justice to your common friend? And please, whenever you
have a moment’s leisure, let us hear how you are yourself.

“It grieves us to hear how your sorely needed holiday has been
turned into a day of sadness and mourning by these two deaths.
Dr. Hodgson’s must have been such a terrible shock, and from its
circumstances have brought upon you so much to try you, in
addition to the personal loss. We women have lost in him a
friend such as we shall not see again, and he was one of the few
left in this dull generation who could fight with wit as well as
earnestness, and had always a good story to clinch an argument.

“I cannot hear of all the good work going on without a pang at
being so unable to join in any of it, and all my idleness and
care of my useless self has not brought me any nearer, that I
can see or feel, towards ever joining in it again!... We go to
Florence and then to Rome, where I hope we shall see you in the
Christmas holidays. With love from us both, ever, dear Miss
Buss,

“Your affectionate

“MARIA G. GREY.”

In November, Mrs. Grey writes again—

“Your letter made us very sad. The loss of two such friends as
Dr. Hodgson and Miss Chessar coming upon you under such
circumstances, and so close together, was enough to break you
down utterly, but, as you do not mention your health, we trust
it did not suffer. We cannot help hoping that the distressing
effect will have worn away enough to let your old elasticity of
spirits and love of Rome restore you, and that we may yet have
the pleasure of welcoming you here at Christmas.”

Miss Buss had written to say that Rome was not possible for this year, and in response Miss Shirreff speaks of one part of her letter—

“How true is what you say of the terrible void in one’s life
from the loss of early friends, but, believe me, dear Miss Buss,
later friendships may become very close and dear, and you are
far indeed from having overpast the age for making them. Those
to whom mental sympathy has always been the strong, if not the
strongest, link in friendship, have in this case a great
advantage over others, because, while we outlive other and
lighter needs of our nature, the need for mental companionship
never is lost, and this enjoyment can never cease to give, after
close affection, the truest zest to life. It is therefore never
too late to meet with it, though we become slower in discerning
it when it exists. But you have not reached that point, and with
the full vigour of mental faculty you are ready to seize the
full enjoyment of what responds to your own nature. In hours of
sorrow we are so apt to feel the burden of years that we
acquiesce too readily in the privations they seem to bring.

“I hope your quiet holiday-time spent with your old friend will
send you back strengthened and hopeful to your work. I cannot
express how much we feel your goodness in having added to it the
guidance of this new school (the Maria Grey Training School)
through its difficult early years. Mrs. Grey joins in love, and
says she will write another day.

“Ever affectionately yours,

“EMILY A. SHIRREFF.”

The visit to Mrs. Hodgson during the holidays did much to comfort them both, and to strengthen the bond that never relaxed to the end. The very latest pleasure of Miss Buss’ life, in the bright interval that preceded the fatal illness, was a visit at Myra from this loved and loving friend.

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