Early Letters, from 1852 to 1869

(ToE. C.)

LLANDUDNO, July 23, 1852.

How 1 wish you and W. H. could join us in our North Wales expeditions! There are copper mines in the Orme’s Head, and as I had an intense desire to find myself half a mile from daylight, no one had any peace till my object of entering them was gained. One evening when the miners had left, Ellen, Frank, and I packed into a little truck and were pushed half a mile, till we could only see daylight as a tiny star, the tunnel being as straight as an arrow. The extreme darkness and perfect silence and the chilly air were so different from what we had left, and seemed very curious. Then we got out of our truck and followed our guide through the mine — through such curious caverns, some full of crystals and copper ore. We have plenty of walks, and great variety, but I prefer exploring alone. Oh, the breakneck places and precipices I get among. I am almost too venturesome, but my foot has never once slipped. Then, too, in such wild places I am quite alone, and I

A take out my little Testament and read and pray, where no human being besides myself is ever likely to be. Last week I could not do this, for I was very poorly from over-bathing, and now I must not bathe; it is very annoying, for I like swimming, and enjoy riding on the crested waves of the sea as much as on that wicked little pony. Frank went from home to Oakhampton last week to stand godfather to my new little niece ‘Evelyn Emily.’

Now I will tell you what a capital book I am reading, Hobart Seymour’s Mornings with the Jesuits at Rome. The style of the book is most delightful j sit down to it, and you can hardly get up again. I am so fond of controversial works. When does go back to school?

That will be the time of trial for him; if he can stand firm on the Rock while there; if he can resist the many waves of temptation which will beat upon him there, then you may be sure all is right with him. It is more difficult to be prayerful at school than anywhere. When I went to Powick last year, I began prayerfully and carefully; but gradually, very gradually, I loosed my hold upon the Saviour, and on looking back at the end of the year, more was lost than gained. Oh, dear E., every one seems to get before me. I think I have found out my besetting sin; surely it is pride. The desire of surpassing others in everything, unwillingness to seem behind — all is pride. I never can be content to be last. But this mountain of pride must be made low before the Lord can enter my heart. I have learnt to read and speak Welsh quite easily. Some of the words are puzzling, because the initial letters are altered instead of the terminals, e.g. bara, mara, and fara all mean bread, but for euphony are used interchangeably in different parts of a sentence. We have excellent fun in bathing and swimming; I quite alarm our old bathing woman. Our landlady Mrs. G. is so nice and ladylike. I am sure she must be good, from many little things, and the gentle expression of her countenance. Many beautiful pieces of furniture show what she used to have.

Now I will tell you where I am enthroned. Not among green fields, or even where towering mountains rise, but by the wild sea waves; and while I am writing this, they are flowing in with softest, sweetest music, not like the deafening roar they dashed in with a few days ago. I wonder whether we shall ever be together where ancient ocean rolls his swelling tide. What a pity there are no fairy slippers which would transport you here with a wish. How bright everything is with you. I fear I shall never have such joy. Still I do not give up seeking, but there seem so many things in the way. I have been thinking a great deal about my confirmation, though it will not be yet for two years; it seems such a solemn vow which you then take upon yourself. Oh, shall I have strength to keep it? it is one of my most constant prayers, that if I am spared to be confirmed, I may never act as if I had not been so. I should so like to be confirmed with you. I have not time for much in the studying line here, and only write a lesson in Ollendorf every day, and have begun learning the Revelation, and am now in the third chapter.

(To E. C.)

TENBY, 1854.

Our lodgings look out upon the sea, and just opposite is a picturesque rocky island called St. Catherine’s, with the ruins of a church on the top. There are most delectable caverns in it, quite practicable at low tide, with many lovely sea things, animal and vegetable. I have met an old Powick schoolfellow of mine here, — a very nice girl, — and we are a good deal together. She has her own horse here, — a perfect beauty, — and her father has very kindly left another, — a pretty creature (cream colour), — for my especial benefit, so we ride all over the country ad libitum together. The church is very large, but the pews are execrably uncomfortable. Last Sunday we had a first-rate sermon from the Bishop of Llandaff, not cram full of long words and Greek and Latin, but just what every one there could understand; it was altogether beautiful. Plainly, simply, and fully he preached the gospel, the whole gospel, and nothing but the gospel, and his manner was captivating — so impressive and earnest; altogether I have rarely been so pleased.

The curate, tall and pale, seems as if he would not stay many years longer in this wicked world; he had such a peculiarly sweet and holy expression of countenance, that I expected great things from him. However, I was rather disappointed with his evening sermon; but yesterday he preached again, and I found I was not mistaken in my opinion of him. His text was 2 Cor. iii. 6. You would have thought him some old experienced Christian, a sort of Charles Simeon. It was beautiful, and his heart seemed full of love, not only to his congregation, but to his Saviour; and he seemed so anxious that others should enjoy God’s love, and know how sweet it is. It has often struck me, dear E., that Christians scarcely think enough of the exceeding great love of God the Father. Not that they express it, but the general tone seems to give the impression that we owe everything solely and originally to Christ, keeping in the background that it was ‘the Father sent the Son to be the Saviour,’ that the Son makes the Father love us, and not that the love in the Father’s heart made Him send the Son.

Now Mr. Smith (afterwards Bishop of Victoria) preached a good deal on this subject, not in any way detracting from the love and honour due to our Saviour, but he wanted us to see His unity with the Father, and love God in Christ more.

I am so extremely delighted and surprised that another Powick schoolfellow has come to Tenby. Did I ever tell you about Miss Threlfall, who writes such exquisite poetry? She is here too, and I am perfectly enchanted with her, my beau ideal of a Christian poetess. My sister Miriam is sketching a good deal, finishing her outlines in the evenings. Her etchings are quite artistic.

(Letter in Rhyme.y

1855.
My very dear friend, I fear you will be

Quite out of all patience with poor little me. For seeming neglect, I must forthwith atone, And meekly my humble repentance make known

By scribbling at once my epistle in rhyme,

More akin to the ludicrous than the sublime.

So little I’ve been with the Muses of late,

And so fearfully thick is becoming my pate,

That even a letter — of lines very few,

‘Tis a dubious case, if I ever get through,

For want of a rhyme or a suitable word,

To insert where a gap in the metre is heard.

Not that the Muses will have much to do

With any epistle I scribble to you.

I shall not invoke their capricious assistance,

And keep from Parnassus respectable distance,

And only apply to my own special friend,

The goddess of scribble, at whose shrine I bend.

Both gladly and oft, for she never refuses

Her aid, like the fickle and spiteful old Muses!

A little epitome seems to be due,

Dear Janey (considering our friendship), to you,

Of all the events which since I wrote last,

Like shadows, though pleasant and bright ones, have past;

Well, first on the list, on the thirtieth of June

Our hearts with St. Nicholas’ bells were in tune;

Both joyous and grateful indeed they might be,

For my father (the jewel!) came home from the sea.

Returned, yes he is, but not as he went,

With dim seeing eye and his forces all spent;

For sight hath been found by the glorious Rhine,

And his books are reopened — so long a sealed mine.

So after we got up a capital dinner,

Plum-pudding and beef, at which each little sinner

Who claimed to belong to St. Nicholas’ school,

Came smiling and cheering till each bench was full.

And now I transcribe, without any fear,

‘The Welcome ’ we sang my father to cheer.

SONG OF WELCOME TO REV. W. H. HAVERGAL.

O God, with grateful hearts we come

Thy goodness to adore,
While we our pastor welcome home

To England’s happy shore.

For Thy delivering love we praise,

And Thy restoring hand!
Oh, spare him yet for long, long days

To this our little band.

Thy Spirit’s fulness on him rest,

Thy love his sunshine be!
And may he still, while doubly blest,

A blessing be from Thee.

When the Chief Shepherd shall appear,

May he receive, we pray,
A crown of glory, bright and clear,

That fadeth not away.

Next day I depart in infinite glee,

My heart’s dearest jewel, my brother, to see,

With a couple of sisters to take care of me.

A perfect Elysium Hereford is,

A fairyland palace of pleasure and bliss j

Like some rainbow winged fay every hour flies past,

Only one is e’er mournful, and that is the last.

In this chalice of crystal, brimful of delight,

Full many ingredients mingled, but quite

The chief of them all (after Frank’s conversation)

Was the music, — enchanting in my estimation,

Beethoven and Mendelssohn, Handel and Spohr,

Mozart and Corelli, with many names more,

Their harmony poured through voices and ringers,

Around me the echo most sweetly still lingers

More marvellous yet than a musical dream,

Flowed for hours together that glorious stream;

Each day as in music so happily passed,

I fancied more beautiful yet than the last,

Until when I left (with immense lamentation)

I was just in a state of complete saturation, —

The spirit of music seemed then to pervade

My very existence. That spirit has made

A firm resolution spring up within me,

That a decent musician some day / will be.

An army of socks in transparent condition

With which to combat, was my own special mission,

With neckties united and with shirts to affright

My latent intentions my letters to write.

This being the case, I shall hope and expect

That you will not accuse me of wilful neglect,

Since darning and visiting, walking and all,

But music especially held me in thrall.

Some ten days ago? spite of Frank’s hearty grumbles

At losing his sisters, we came to the Mumbles —

For sea air is better than potion or pill,

To cure or prevent every species of ill.

This side Mumbles Head is dreary indeed,

No sands and no shells and no lovely seaweed,

No rocks which are fit to sketch or to climb.

An expanse of grey mud which is truly sublime

At low tide before you, and shingle at high,

Is the pleasant alternative greeting your eye;

/ (

And being so sheltered the water is quiet,

And hasn’t a notion of making a riot.

But over the Head ’tis a different thing,

There a jubilant chorus the waves ever sing;

They seem to rejoice in their glorious might,

Their snowy plumes waving with gleeful delight.

Full many a trophy they bring from the deep,

Where forests untrodden the calm waters sleep;

Fair flowers of ocean of tropical hue,

Which glow on the sands bright with clear briny dew.

While meadow or woodland or wild heathy hill

Invite us to ramble and wander at will.

Church matters seem here in a pitiful state,

Which pains me and grieves me here to relate.

Two ting tangs set up a most pitiful chime

For church, at no very particular time.

You enter, and straight have a very fair notion

Of the nearest approach to perpetual motion.

The comma, the sole punctuation they use,

For the clergyman has not a moment to lose, —

He dashes away like a torrent of water,

And finishes all in an hour and a quarter.

The church has been whitewashed, but right long ago,

As the cracks and the dinginess amply doth show

About the same time, that a strange petrifaction

Confined the incumbent to mere Sunday action.

So many abuses in this place are rife,

The only church things giving token of life,

Are the singing within and the nettles without,

Both equally rampant, without any doubt.

But Janey, dear friend, I must hasten away,

For dinner will never allow of delay,

Entreating forgiveness for silence again,
And imploring a letter ere long from your pen,
I only will add that I ever shall be
What I now am, your fervently loving

FANNIE.

(To E. C.)

ST. NICHOLAS RECTORY, April 1854. Our missionary meetings will, I hope, be extra good this year. The Rev. Pettitt, of Tinnevelly, and Rev. Bernau, of British Guiana, both known veterans, are our deputation. Do coax Mr. T. into bringing you over. They are warming-pans these missionary meetings; one cannot help getting some increase of mental caloric. We had a German Church missionary with us last week. We became acquainted with him in Dusseldorf, his native place, where he was taking some rest after many years’ labour in Abyssinia and India, and he may return next autumn. Mr. Isenberg knows sixteen languages, and has preached and written books in most of them; he is as good as he is clever. His devotion to his work and to the great Master of his work is beautiful; it was quite a treat to have him. I have at last hit on a new device, and earned something by my brains for my pet Church Missionary Society. There are some pocket-books at 2S. 6d. which advertise so many copies gratis, as prizes for poetical enigmas sent up for insertion; * so last spring I wrote sixteen on different subjects, and now I have

1 ‘Charades and Enigmas,’ by F. R. H., in Life Echoes. Nisbet & Co.

received six copies in return. I reserved one, but sold all the rest. I mean to try again next year (D. F.). No one else got more than four copies, so I am well satisfied with my success.

June 3, 1854.

Last Sunday the confirmation notice was given out in our church, and this week Papa saw all the candidates at the Rectory, before beginning the confirmation lectures. July iyth is the day fixed for Worcester. Are you at all thinking about it, dearest? If you are, why could we not be confirmed together, and then you could have the benefit of dear Papa’s nice lectures? I am not quite easy about this important and to me most solemn of any rite. Perhaps I am more fearful than I need to be. But to take that solemn vow on my lips, to answer ‘I do ’ without a really changed heart, seems dreadful. I do — oh, indeed I do — desire to live up to my profession, to be His, for time and eternity. But I am learning to see how very weak I am, and how easily Satan can conquer me even when I do strive against him. I do believe with my head that Jesus can, and will give me His grace, and I do not need to fear, yet somehow my heart seems to be hard and cold and not to take it in. Oh, if we were but there — where there is no more sin! Oh do not forget to pray for me, and don’t ever doubt the love of your unworthy friend.

(To E. C.)

December 1856.

How quickly time does go! This is December! and our twentieth birthday! I hope God will give me grace to use this fortnight as a special season of prayer for grace to begin not only a new year, but a new ten years. Therefore I feel sure Satan will make it a special season of temptation; indeed, I quite dread it from experience. Will you pray for me, and with me, dear, that my faith may not fail? I have so much to humble me to the very dust — twenty sinful years! Yesterday, Papa preached a beautiful sermon from Acts i. n. One sentence came suddenly upon me (my attention had wandered for a minute), ‘And the Judge on that great white throne will be this same Jesus of Nazareth’ Oh it made me so happy, I did not hear what followed, it seemed to fill me. Jesus of Nazareth, the same that said, ‘Come unto Me,’ the same who ‘suffered, being tempted,’ HE the fudge / how then could I fear? I wished the last trump could be sounding even then. How can it be that this never struck me so before? But it has passed away, like the aurora on a winter night, and all seems cold and dark again; only there seems a faint quivering gleam on the horizon, remaining, to remind me of the brightness which has been.

WHO SHALL BE FIRST?

‘Tis nearly forty years since our first flower

Awoke beneath the fair spring’s early shining;

‘Tis more than twenty since a wintry hour

Filled up the wreath of home, the sixth young bud entwining.

That wreath, long woven, is unbroken yet,

Not one of all its opening buds hath faded,

Not one gem fallen from that coronet j

Oh, ’ who shall be the first ’ to shine in light unshaded?

F. R. H.

(ToE.P. S.).
ST. NICHOLAS RECTORY, WORCESTER, 1857.

Inasmuch as I have not written for some time, I mean to give you a good long epistle to make up; and going upon the supposition that you are still a lover of St. Nicholas, shall inflict a circumstantial account of Whitsuntide proceedings on you.

Our children went to St. Andrew’s. Papa’s text was 1 Boys and girls playing in the streets,’ which of course produced a good many astonished looks, and caught attention, — a very pretty and interesting sermon, the text suggesting — ist, mercies to be thankful for; 2nd, dangers to be avoided; 3rd, ditties to be fulfilled. The principal banner was, * Dear Pastor, go on in the work of the Lord,’ beautifully done in leaves. * Feed my Lambs,” None but Jesus,’ ‘We won’t give up the Bible,’ were also conspicuous. ‘V. R.’ and ‘Long live the Queen.’ Tea as usual, and rewards. My poor scholar, dear Betsy Dyke, would have been one of three singled out for pre-eminent church behaviour; her father is to have the Bible which would have been hers; little Emma, too, had been marked first rate in everything. Poor little Ben looks so cut up, it is quite touching to see him; he is such a good child. The infants sang beautifully. I never saw Papa look more pleased. The others listened most attentively, and the big girls begged they might sing again, ’ // was so pretty] they said. Our curate, Mr. James, was very cool and amusing. At last came the cheering. Mary Jenkins gave out in a clear National School voice, ‘The Queen,” Mr. and Mrs. Havergal, Miss H. and Miss Fanny; ’ then ‘Three cheers for Mr.

and Mrs. Shaw, and the baby! ‘This produced first laughter, then cheers and thumping.

It was so kind of Papa, he had my little verses on “Peace” printed and sung. We like our children to be loyal.

PEACE.

A CAROL FOR THE CHILDREN OF ST. NICHOLAS SUNDAY SCHOOL.

Children, come! with grateful voice
Let us one and all rejoice:
War departs, and Peace descends;
Enemies are turned to friends.

War departs! each tuneful bell
Pealeth forth its welcome knell;
Battle shout and camion’s roar
Shall be heard again no more.

Peace descends on rainbow wing!
Thousand blessings may she bring;
Plenty, joy, and love to all,
Parents, children, ’ great and small. ’

Ne’er again may England know

What it is to have a foe;

Ever may the olive green

Shade the throne of England’s Queen.

Children, come! your voices raise,
Chant the gladsome hymn of praise;
Thanking Him who reigns above,
Prince of Peace, and God of Love!

F. R. H.

In the evening, we went to the teachers’ tea meeting. The President, Rev. John Davies, of St. Clements, made a very nice speech, and finished up most sweetly, and quite in character with himself and his apostolic looks.

Then a useful speech from a deputation from the Sunday School Institute; a great deal of earnest homecoming talk and practical advice; a very good man evidently, and seemed to produce considerable effect on the teachers. Then Hymn 237, to Farrant. Then Rev. W. H. Havergal! Such a sweet speech and solid withal, every one seemed pleased, and more clapping and ‘Hear, hear ’ than for any one else. He told us an instance of Sunday school teachers’ work bearing fruit after a lapse of forty years — so exquisitely; then cautioned against two or three particular local evils for teachers to warn against. He just took an opportunity of ‘congratulating ’ them ’ on their singing.’ To our great delight, he came out so wonderfully sweet, like a first-rate Thursday evening sermon, and showed a beautiful gleam of his spirituality. I do so wish Mr. Shaw had heard him then, it was so lovely. Rev. B. Davis and W. Wright were called, but sensibly refused to speak, time being up. A few nice words from the President, then ‘May the grace,’ etc., then the Benediction. After which (9.40) every one went off in apparently a satisfied state of mind, and even Maria came to the conclusion that it had been a very profitable evening. My father gave the Irish Society a capital introduction last Sunday in the sermon; it will not be his fault if collections are small.

I am going to Germany with Auguste, when school breaks up, in two or three weeks; my next to you will be from France. The Prince of Wales is going to stay three months at Konigswinter, only three miles from Obercasscl, and the Countess zur Lippe is a relative of Prince Albert’s and he used to spend his vacations there when at the University of Bonn; so now the Prince is sure to go there, and as I am going to spend a month there, perhaps I shall be under the same roof as the heir-apparent! Something like the comet’s crossing the plane of the earth’s orbit, is it not? as they said, ’ if they had only been a month forwarder, there would have been a collision ‘!

has been desperately affectionate to me of late,

and more earnest and easy to talk with about better things, but I don’t quite understand her. Her religion (she seems to have a good deal of it too) does not seem a very spiritual sort; it is more the ‘I put my trust in God’s mercy ’ sort of thing, and savours a little of the Maurice and Kingsley notions of God’s universal love, etc. And yet she is earnest, and thinks seriously about giving up dancing, etc., this winter. Why is it, Nelly (and am I right?), I always feel a sort of suspicious dread of there fteing something wrong about those who only talk about ‘God’s mercy,” trust in Providence,1 etc.? If they speak of Jesus, it seems a sort of key-note, and they seem tuned to it, and you feel you trust them more than the other sort. I can’t get over the feeling, and yet it seems almost exalting the Son above the Father; but it always gives me a sort of thrill if His name is mentioned, which the other expressions do not and cannot.

Papa preached from Micah v. 3. Very many at the communion. Mr. James gave us (P.M.) a pretty little commentary, simple and useful, on Luke ii. 6-20. The chief peculiarity of his sermons is originality; he does not say just what you fancy is coming, but brings out thoughts and lessons which are very new and striking.

He is too short and hurried in manner, and his sentences are rather abrupt. He always calls things by their right names, and does not at all mince matters in telling folks the truth, e.g. l there is no such thing in existence as “a good sort of person on the whole “; ’ or again, mentioning something in Proverbs, ’ it is not only not tolerated by God, not disagreeable to Him — it is an abomination to Him.’ I like Mr. James very much; he seems in high favour with the better class and with our poor. Widow Surman thinks, ’ he do preach wonderful sermons, only he don’t stop long enough over them; I told him of it, and he promised he’d try and read them a bit slower ‘!

(To E. P. S.)

SPA, October 3, 1857.

I am now almost myself again, and hope to go for a little walk to-day; but it is very strange to think that only on September 21st, I was in real danger, the erysipelas having gone to my head; it seems like a new life given me, and I do hope that He who has restored it will give me grace to use it for Him. So you see, while you are all thankful for our dear father’s life, I have a double cause for gratitude, my own as well as his. It is so delightful to see him walking about the room again, in his own old way; it really seems almost a miracle after what he has gone through.

I have had such a jolly summer till these last four or five weeks, and managed to get as thoroughly *verdeutscht,’ i.e. Germanized, in manners and customs as if I belonged to them.

Home, October 16. — When will my letter be done, I wonder! Headaches always seemed to come on just when I wanted to write, and last Friday I left Spa for home. Dear mother travelled with me part of the way. I had a quiet journey, barring a great Sabbath argument with two young Frenchmen, who made themselves agreeable. On getting to Ostend, an English barrister, with whose ancient mother, Papa had become acquainted at Grafrath, met me. He at once informed me that it was such a stormy night that no one in their senses would cross without absolute necessity. Then up walked Mr. H., who told me that his wife had just made up beds for me, and the lady expected with me. Mrs. H., a tall, dashing-looking person, with seven children, received me in a hearty English sort of way, and told me to make myself comfortable till the sea was fit to be ventured upon.

All this I should have enjoyed, and thought immense fun, but felt so very poorly that I almost regretted staying, under the apprehension that I might be laid up again there. A tiptop-looking lady, very pretty, was in to tea, and introduced as the ‘Countess Riidiger;’ she was the wife of that Russian General Riidiger, who was killed in the war.

I went on by the Dover boat, and had a beautifully smooth passage.

The number of railway and steamboat acquaintances I have made is something amusing. I always picked up somebody. Once I fell desperately in love with a very sweet young lady, speaking almost all European languages with equal fluency; and, on exchanging names and autographs, I found she was the Princess Leonille Galitzin, of the great Russian family. I looked amazed, and said, ‘You see / have no titles.” Oh,’ said she, ’ what are titles? only empty names. T do not care for them, and should like you none the better for having one.’

I left Papa marvellously better; he is going to Grafrath by very easy stages. He was so delighted with a piano, sat down and played a few minutes, and then seemed quite overpowered, it was so touching.

He is so beautiful in illness or trouble, people don’t half know him who have not seen him at such times; talk about sweet memoirs, etc., no memoir that ever was written would be good enough for him!

I have missed two weddings at Obercassel, was engaged to be bridesmaid at each. Fancy, the two groomsmen lead the bride, and the two bridesmaids lead the bridegroom up the church! Is it not funny?

(To the same.)

December 1857.

My dear old almshouse folks are so affectionate, it is a great consolation to me that there cannot be much cupboard love in the question; it smites me rather, because I feel it more than I deserve,’ when I remember

L sometimes going round carelessly and hurriedly. They do say such nice things about dear Papa, etc. We went to the cathedral on Christmas Eve — a very nice service. I should like to copy a piece out of George Herbert for Mr. S., about his enjoyment of cathedral services. Thank you for remembering my birthday; it was such an unexpected pleasure to have a bit of your writing. People seemed determined to set me up in the poetry line. Miriam gave me Campbell and Coleridge, J. H. E. sent me a magnificent drawing-room table volume, all gilding and scarlet and illumination, Christmas with the Poets, and mother gave me a very nice copy of my dearlybeloved George Herbert. Greatly to my liking — these said books!

And, Nelly dear, I do think my best Friend sent me some of His birthday gifts; I had pleaded very hard for a blessing, and it was answered. I couldn’t help trusting and loving Him, and could not help saying, ‘I am my Beloved’s, and my Beloved is mine.’ You see Jer. xxxi. 3 seemed sent me; I must admit that He had * drawn ’ me, because I FELT it, and it was with ’ loving-kindness ’ too, then that ’ therefore ’ showed me that He must have loved ’ me ’ with an everlasting love,’ because He simply said it; for, being convinced of the effect, how could I make Him a liar and disbelieve the cause? Wasn’t it kind of Him to speak to me, Nelly dear? And then I felt so comforted about what is always my greatest trouble — my spiritual future; He took away all my unbelieving fear that I should not get any nearer to Him in coming years, that He would suffer me to fall away entirely, that I should after all be a castaway. He helped me there, and so I laid all that burden on Him. I’m not so happy now, I am so horribly wicked; but ‘Christ Jesus, made unto us sanctificationj gives me hope.

(A City Rector’s Letter to his Parishioners)

November 9, 1859.
My dear parishioners and friends,

While heartily I greet you,
I must regret to say that now
To duty’s stern behest I bow,
And to a small parochial row

I feel constrained to treat you.

Allow me to remind you first,

That some few years ago,
Our worthy friend John Wheeley Lea,
(To which Esquire should added be)
The schools erected, which you see

When through the Butts you go.

An eligible mistress found,

And all things else in train,
We trusted that the poor would prize
The boon aright, while kind supplies
From ready friends would soon arrive;

We trusted — but in vain!

The children came and brought their pence,

But pennies won’t supply
The coals to fill those Tudor grates,
Brooms, dusters, door-mats, books and slates,
Insurance, wear and tear and rates,

And salaries so high.

Though filthy lucre be a snare,
We can’t quite do without it;

And as this evil still is rife,
My precious darling little wife
Has nearly sacrificed her life,
In teasing you about it.

For each two pounds collected, she

One pair of boots wears out,
For every five a dress; and then,
‘Tis true, though sad, for every ten
She goes and gets laid up again,

For perhaps a month about.

Then, when at last the work is done

And each subscription paid,
Your Rector finds himself — but nay,
I spare you — of myself I say
As little as I duly may,

Not thus the cause I aid.

My friends, it ought not so to be,

Your duty is most clear;
I. pray let 1860 bring
Sweet charity on golden wing,
In every bosom may she nestle,
With every world-bound spirit wrestle,

And make a glad New Year!

F. R. H.

I had so looked forward to this visit to London; but the first week has brought such deep sorrow, and I am in mourning for my dear Cousin Bessie’s, unexpected but most peacefully-happy death; and now our dear

Aunt Stratton has died also. Of course this holds me back from so much which I had anticipated; and just as I was intending to visit my dear brother Henry, I was taken ill. I have had very little actual suffering, but excessive weakness, and so a holding back from my own plans and pleasures and duties, which I see to be a most wise dispensation for me. Somehow times of check and disappointment, generally seem singularly helpful to me. I think I have been enabled to rest more simply on the Lord Jesus, and His finished work, and have found peace in that, instead of the old distraction and almost despair in trying to trace out the yet scarcely-visible work within me. God has been very gracious to me, — oh, so undeservedly; for only He knows how utterly unworthy I am of all His benefits. Oh, if I might only cling always closely to Him, and never wander from Him again!

A few days ago I was much depressed, — some of my

plans had failed, and had grievously disappointed

all the warm hopes I thought I had reason to cherish of her. Then came a storm of discoveries of evil in my motives and actions, seemingly all fair. I seemed utterly helpless and weak, — bodily, mentally, and spiritually, — and utterly, oh utterly vile and sinful in my own eyes! How much more then in God’s sight! I could do nothing; there was nothing for it but to cast myself just as I was upon the Saviour. I did so, and brought Him all my burden, even the heaviest — my deep sinfulness. Instantly ‘there was a great calm.’ I cannot express it otherwise. It gave me the strongest impression- of His own merciful, immediate, and personal intervention which I have ever had. I was confident He had heard, and, while I was yet speaking, answered. For all the

care and sorrow about, and other things, seemed

taken out of my hands and safely placed in His; * the sin has been atoned for, the sinfulness shall be subdued, and He is our peace now and for ever,’ was my feeling rather than my thought. I could not stay to analyze the strange flow of quiet gladness and sense of relief; it was too plainly His gift just that moment when I so needed it, and what could I do but thank Him for such kindness? Vivid consciousness of this kind seldom lasts long; but Heb. xiii. 8 is very sweet, and though I change with every passing hour, He is ’ the same.’

I suppose it is because He knows how weak my faith is, that in every trial He always permits me as yet to see the c need be.’ It must seem the merest trifle to others, but it is a great trial to me to feel such lack of strength that many hours a day, especially early ones, which I would so like to spend in many pursuits for which I have no other time, must be spent in entire rest, or the very slightest occupation.

But I know I need this check, and am thankful, I hope, that I am stronger than a time back.

(To E. C.)

Febmary 1862.

... ‘He knoweth the way that I take; and when He hath tried me, I shall come forth as gold.’ And He has known all along by what way you would be taken.... Oh E., there is great comfort in the mere thought of this wonderful knowledge of our God; then add to it that

He who knoweth careth too, and He who careth loveth with a love that passeth knowledge. He has indeed tried you, dearest, and the trial time is still present with you; but ’ when ’ (then it is not meant to last always — there is something beyond) ’ when He hath tried me,’ — when all is over, and the storms are quieted, and the wounded heart is healing under His touch, — then you ’ shall come forth as gold,’ very precious in His sight, impressed with His own refining mark, purified and prepared for His work here, and His own safe treasury above, when that work is done. ... To think that your sweet mother is on the very threshold of eternal rest and joy! A hush comes over me at the very thought of one so loved, being so near Christ’s own immediate presence. Is it not as if the veil were growing half transparent which hangs between life and its dreams, and eternal life and its realities? Oh try, dearest, even in your deep sorrow, to lift a note of thanksgiving for the * sure and certain hope,’ the utter confidence which all must have in her abundant entrance. It is so wonderful to think of what we cannot conceive, that lies so close before her. And then, dearest, to think that all your sorrow is but one upward step for you towards the same bright goal!

December 13, 1863.

The eve of my birthday. I have been thinking why this year has been marked by such little advancement, while God’s dealings with me have been so favourable to it; and I trust that the resolution which I have just prayerfully made may change the story of my next year’s history. I find that when so late in rising A.M. as to have inadequate time for prayer and my Bible, I cannot really replace it later in the day — my mind seems unhinged. I asked Papa’s advice; which was, that considering the great importance which rest, and especially sleep is to me, and the medical opinion about it, I ought not to make a point of rousing myself earlier, but rather to make a strong effort to overcome the temptation to wandering thought, and hurried formalism later in the morning. I tried to do so, and while at home partly succeeded. But now I am teaching my nieces again, I fail entirely, and have come to the conclusion that I ought, in this matter, ’ to seek first the kingdom of God,’ and leave health to His care meanwhile. So, God helping me, I resolve henceforth, at whatever bodily sacrifice, to rise sufficiently early to leave full time for reading His word, and prayer without hurry; and if I can in no other way manage it, to go to bed at nine P.M. for extra rest instead of morning sleep. And oh, may the Lord give me such increase of strength and grace, that bodily weakness and weariness may seem a little thing to me!

March 5, 1864.

... I consider what you call my father’s Churchism to consist of —

T. Evangelical Doctrine, i.e. Christ and His Atonement are above and before all things: Conversion, whether taking place in Baptism or subsequently, sudden or imperceptibly gradual, to be an absolute necessity; that good works follow out of and are not any means of justification, which is only by faith in Christ; that outward forms and ceremonies have no merit or virtue in themselves whatever.

2. Loyal Church Practice, i.e. that all things should be done decently and in order, to uphold the Church in every way, to hold fast her Articles and Liturgy, interpreting each by the other.

Now I think a ‘High ’ confession of faith would be rather different to this. They would make the ‘Church ’ their great meeting-point, rather than the Atonement of Christ. They would say that regenerating grace is always given in Baptism, and that all we have to do is to take heed not to fall from it. (I’m quite sure I never had any to fall from!) They make some sort of subtle virtue to be in the performance of rites, and so there is a sort of half-acknowledged trust placed in them. They would think as much of gaining a dissenter to join the Church as of winning a soul from darkness to light. As far as my experience goes, they have more devoutness and less devotion, more fear and less love, more feeling of duty than of desire, laying more stress on Phil. ii. 1 2 than ver. 13, and in practice working upon the intellect and imagination rather than aiming at the heart, skirmishing among the outworks rather than assaulting the citadel.

August 7, 1864.

I ought not to let this summer pass without some slight record of God’s goodness to me. All the spring was cold and dark to me, and the thanks which should have gone up for my exemption (the only one in the house) from illness were few and faint. I longed that God would speak to me, and show me the reality of His love and power. He answered singularly by showing me His power and His actual presence in working upon others. First He permitted me to gain the confidence of, and to be, by conversation and correspondence, some little help to her. And so, in April and May, I watched His hand leading her week by week out of

darkness into marvellous light. Then I heard of ’s

conversion, and saw for myself in her, such evidence of His real power as left no room for doubt. And in the midst of my own dimness, it was great encouragement to see what the Lord could do and was doing. Then, having for months watched, and waited, and prayed for any signs of good resulting from my evening class, S. D. seemed touched, awakened, and in earnest, feeling a deep dissatisfaction with herself, which her outwardly blameless life had hitherto kept off. Then F. C., after my many vain attempts to get any response beyond polite assent, seemed reached at last by a little note, and earnest tears took the place of the easy smile. So I felt that God was answering my prayer, only not in my way.

In June, having promised to read French with, I

gave her a hint of my longings and disappointment. She took it up so that I told her all. She made my case the subject of her most fervent prayer, and wrote me two or three most beautiful letters. I begged her to be a candid friend, having gone so far with her, for I wanted no c smooth things.’ And she warned me of the spirit of worldliness. It was so, I knew and felt. How could I be delivered from the net? Even prayer seemed powerless against this paralyzation. Thus I went home, praying my holidays might bring blessing somehow.

Hannah and Janey and Andrienne V. were coming for a visit. A special impulse seemed to come upon me to pray for H, and that her visit might be blessed. She came to Shareshill reluctantly, and with a special determination not to like me, and inclination to be jealous of me. She baffled me, and knew it; no response whatever could I get. I think God poured out upon me the spirit of grace and of supplication for her, so much so that I almost lost sight of my own difficulties and depression in anxiety for her. July 2nd, Saturday evening, she broke the ice, by merely saying, 1 You are what I am not.’ * Then why not? ‘This led to a very serious talk the next evening; and she cried, but said, ‘I just feel that I don’t care enough about it to be worth while to seek.’ I spoke of danger and of God’s promise to give the Holy Spirit to them that only ask. All through the following week, she sought truly and earnestly. By Maria’s advice, though reluctantly at first, I read a little with her each day, and soon was most thankful that I had been led to do so. On Saturday, pth, I gave her Mark x. 46-52, and the first light seemed to break in. That evening we sat on the stile behind the churchyard close to our gardens; we read Rom. iii., dwelling long on verse 22 and the doctrine of imputed righteousness. And God gave her faith to receive it — ‘I do believe this, but is that all? Can it be all? is nothing more necessary? ‘I assured her it must be all, because God had said it. ‘Isn’t it too good to be true? ’ was the next. But she believed the testimony concerning His Son, and was at rest. And the next day, July nth, she sealed her faith in obedience to her Saviour’s command, and came with us for the first time in her life to His table.

God seemed to help me wonderfully to read and say the right things; I felt that He did so. But while talking to her, the feeling grew stronger daily, that what was true for her was true also for me, especially when we thought over Rom. iii. ’22. I do not think I ever before ventured to really believe that Christ’s righteousness was imputed even to me; but I knew, I was sure, that I believed in Jesus, and so there seemed no alternative but to accept the glorious belief that l the righteousness of God ’ being ’ upon all and unto all them that believe ’ was upon me too. It used to seem ( too good to be true ’ for me; but how could I doubt God’s word? Then a great tide of sorrow came over me for having been so disbelieving; it seemed so very wrong to have doubted, that it threw other phases of sinfulness into comparative shade. And so that loth of July was one of the happiest days I ever had; my own more than renewed faith, and my excessive delight at God’s marvellous answer to me about dear H. I never saw such rapid work before; it was just as if God would show me what He could do, and what He was ready to do, and silence my doubts and distrust for ever. Oh that it were for ever! Why ever does one doubt! It seems so abominable after all He has said and done. I am so restful now; it is very sweet to yield oneself up to the belief that Christ has saved me. Yet I do not seem to realize it intensely and vividly. (I wonder whether that will ever come!) Still I do not doubt as formerly. Not that I feel any better or holier, much as I long to be so; but Christ Jesus came to save sinners, and as such I come to Him. My desire to be nearer to God, and unreservedly His, has deepened and strengthened.

This month at Llandrillo has been very refreshing to me, and intercourse with Mrs. G. very helpful. I think prayer has been doubly answered, for she speaks of my being a comfort and refreshment to her (which seems strange, for I cannot say much to her). Religion is so utterly real, so everything with her, and that strengthens my own faith. And some things she has said throw a new and pleasant light on thoughts which often distressed me. I hope and pray that when I return to O., the hosts of other things, both duties and pleasures, may not choke the word. I want to live more decidedly to my Master, and not to let go the confidence which He has given me, and which, feeble as it is, and easily shaken, is very precious to me. ‘Ebenezer.’

(To F. T.H.)

OAKHAMPTON, September 27, 1864.

I am so glad you are better; it was so dismal to know of your illness. Do stay at Breay as long as you can, and rest.

We were delighted with the Birmingham Festival. Beethoven’s Mount of Olives went splendidly. That solo and chorus, ‘Prize your Redeemer’s goodness,’ is one of the most glorious things I ever heard, and Titiens sang it wonderfully. Miriam said it was better than many sermons are. I do not know anything more spiritual in instrumental music than ‘The Overture to the Hymn of Praise,’ which we also heard with its grand theme —

‘All that hath life and breath, praise the Lord,’ which idea, so continually recurring in all possible forms.

Mendelssohn seems determined to keep before one. I am haunted still by the strange undulating swell; and that Allegretto f movement, especially that part where there is a sort of conflict between a clear, bright, praiseful theme in steady, simple chords, and an under-current interrupting and then overflowing it, of that mysteriously pathetic minor, so restlessly rising and falling. The whole thing was to me a sort of musical picture of the inner life, and this part means Rom. vii. 24, 25.

How very different it is listening to oratorios, and taking part in them! Especially do I enjoy singing in Handel’s choruses: one cannot but yield oneself to his broad, glad sunshine, pouring so brightly, yet so solemnly, over the mountain grandeur of his almost inspired chords. I do so delight in singing them at our Philharmonic. Never mind organ or conductor or your next neighbour; let the great ocean of sound flow in upon your soul, till you feel that it has absorbed your individual being into itself. Meanwhile sing away, because you cannot help it, — because it does you good; and, whatever the words may be, the notes will be the happy and involuntary expression of thanks to Him, who giveth us richly all things to enjoy, and especially the great and indescribable enjoyment of music. And then as we rise to a glorious climax, ‘Now with one voice, says our conductor, and truly that is a very great and noble one, and the concluding rush of sound is like a dazzling flood of light, pouring itself forth only to end so soon in silence. How quickly music passes and is gone. How one might moralize!

(To M. V. G. If.)

1864.

... I have never answered what you said some time back. Yes, dear, if I had my choice, I should like to be a ‘Christian poetess,’ but I do not feel I have ability enough ever to turn this line to much account. I feel as if music were a stronger talent, though in neither am I doing anything serious. Most of all would I like to be your ideal, — a winner of souls. But as no special path is open for me, I feel I can only and simply take any opportunity of using any talent which opens to me. I am not working now at composition; that door is certainly not now open, and perhaps never will be; cleverer persons than I have never been heard of; and I do not now care about getting into print, unless it should ever be made clear as my right way. I do not think of much beyond my present daily duties, teaching my nieces, etc.; or when at home, taking the various opportunities that arise of usefulness.

November 13, 1864. — This autumn has not been unhappy on the whole; God has been very gracious to me, in preserving me from the sort of reaction I so dreaded, after the vivid feeling of last summer. The bright side has been, that I have seldom felt prayer so much a refreshment and privilege, or been disposed to spend so much time in it; that the Bible, (especially my evening text) has often been very sweet to me; that in two or three special conflicts in matters of conscience, the victory has been given me where before I had failed; that my desire to work for Christ has been a little stronger. When feeling overdone and languid, I have appropriated Isa. 1. 10, just to trust and cling where I cannot see.

The dark side has been, not living up to my light, and missing many opportunities of doing good, and not at all earnest in intercession, that in one struggle between a doubtful right or wrong, I yielded and gave the possible wrong the benefit of the doubt instead of the probable right; that I have not been truly watching for the souls of my own charge, but have taken it too easy.

I am more than ever conscious of the inward
antagonism of the old nature and the new.

I want distinct guidance as to my path. I cannot help thinking I ought to be at home on dear mother’s account, to help her. I hope it will somehow be decided for me. I want to make the most of my life, and to do the best with it; but here I feel my desires and motives need much purifying; for even where all sounds fair in words, an element of self, of lurking pride may be detected. Oh, that my Lord would indeed purify me and make me white, at any cost.

(To the late Miss Pollock.y

LLANDRILLO, CONWAY, 1865.

I enclose you a few of my verses. I know they are worth little in themselves, but I thought you might kindly like to have them as a remembrance of one who feels very thankful for having had the pleasure and privilege of meeting you. It does not need a long acquaintance, to love those whom we feel and know are loving the same dear Saviour. Love is the happiest feeling there is on earth, and how much more of it we have, whom He has taught to love one another for His sake. Do not you think that the ’ new commandment ’ is a singularly kind and considerate one? He knew how our hearts yearn for affection. He knows our deep need of its soothing, gladdening influence, and so He made it not a mere permission, but an absolute command. Surely this is an instance that His commandments are not grievous. We stay here (D. K) till Friday, and then finish our journey to Oakhampton. I feel I ought to begin my work there, with new and holier vigour after all the refreshment and enjoyment of my long Celbridge visit, and all the pleasant Christian intercourse which I have had. One ought to be the better and stronger for it, but the enemy always seems ready with some new device, and one never feels so weak as just when one hoped to feel stronger. Yet ’ in the Lord Jehovah is everlasting strength,’ and it is very nice to know and rest upon that. Good-bye, dearest Miss Pollock. May you be very abundantly blessed in your own soul and in your work. Ruth ii. 12.

May 1865. — Is there such a thing as God seeing that a seeming work for Him, is not done purely unto Him alone, and so sending a sort of earthly reward on the spot, and withholding His acceptance of the service, because of its sullied and imperfect motive? For the thing beyond any other temporal gift I most value is affection. I feel as if I had a perfect greed of love. Now whenever I make special effort to win a soul to Christ, or to comfort and help on some weak or suffering Christian (which last I fancy is my best, as it certainly is my best-loved form of work), I am almost invariably repaid by an amount of gratitude I had no reason to expect. The temptation follows strong and subtle, to work for this pleasant payment, instead of purely for my Master’s sake. To be valued and loved by any one — no one knows its deliciousness to me. Does God give me this as a c verily they have their reward ‘! I long to think it is rather His kind and very gracious encouragement to me, and perhaps I am wronging His goodness in the other thought! Were my heart purer and my eye truly ’ single,’ how I should rejoice in it as a token of His love. Sometimes when walking to Yarron, praying as I go, that the Lord would give me a word in season for each, and laying their cases before Him, in comes the thought like a burglar on my peace, ‘How glad I am they have taken a fancy to me; ’ or what a secret gratification it is when dear old Nanna says she ’ would rather hear me talk than any one ’ — how horrid it is for such pride and selfishness to mingle in even one’s holiest efforts. So now I oftener pray, ‘Lord, lead her to Thyself; whether I am privileged to be Thy instrument or not, grant that So-and-so’s visit or words may be blessed.’

Nothing has more deeply impressed upon me the wickedness and deceitfulness of my heart, than my perfect powerlessness in this form of temptation of yearning to be loved, and laying myself out to win love; my only resource is to bring again and again this impure heart of mine to the great Searcher, and ask Him to pardon and purify my motives.

October 1865. — Another summer of great mercy and loving-kindness, though far from unmingled with sorrow, has passed. The shadows which were wisely sent upon my pleasant summer sunshine have passed now. Dear, very dear ones, have been brought back from very near death, and the only remaining sorrow is partly of my own making, and moreover a cloud with a very silver lining. On the other hand, I have not for a long while had so much enjoyment in many ways as during my visit to my sister Ellen. Kindness and affection have been lavished upon me; I have been as it were acknowledged by Christian friends in a way I have not met with before, and altogether I have had great cause for deep gratitude. On going to Ireland, I prayed specially that I might be a blessing to Mary F., J. H. S., and A. M. S.; and I hope the Lord made me to some extent the means of strengthening them, especially in reading Scripture with them every day. M. F. was in sore trouble and darkness; the Lord sent a glorious victory in what had seemed a hopeless struggle, not so much by my words as by agreement in prayer, and she believed God had sent me on purpose for her to Ireland, and kept me there, too, fifteen weeks instead of six. And on the 7th of September, when a heavy cloud had returned on her path, she received the Communion with Maria and me. I prayed long and intensely afterwards with her, and while we were yet speaking, He heard and sent forth His light and joy in renewed fulness. I had a very sweet consciousness and belief that He was really near, really with us, and pleaded His own promises with unusual confidence. I knew the Lord Jesus must be there, because He said He would be when two or three were together in His name.

The characteristic of this time was finding more and more that God heareth prayer, and specially intercessory prayer. For another, for whom I have been watching and praying for more than two years, has seen and accepted the atonement of the Cross. The simple belief in the death of Christ for our sins, has wrought what argument never could have done, and she wants no more speculative books, and is willing to be a babe and learn of Christ. I take this as a special mercy sent just now, because I have been very much tried. This trial touched me in more than one most sensitive point, and I have not often felt anything so bitterly and keenly. I tried to accept it as a needful cross; it was a very heavy one while it lasted, and I do shrink greatly from its possible renewal. I am so utterly powerless in the matter, nothing short of God’s own grace can avail here. The benefit of the trial certainly was that it drove me to more earnest and continual prayer than ever before, and it is strange but true, that intercessory prayer is generally a channel of personal blessing. It will be all the greater triumph of divine grace when the Lord Himself subdues their hearts. I shall be glad to remember that it was just after this heavy cloud the sunshine broke

forth on my efforts for. Perhaps God was preparing

me for this joy by the sorrow. Anyhow I ought to thank God and take courage, and think I do.

OAKHAMPTON, 1865.

DEAREST MARIE, — You see we are safe here, and though of course tired, I am not really any the worse, but wonderfully better. I imagine Mr. Crane is very glad to have us back after his lonely evenings. Connie looks as blooming as possible again. Tell M. F. that Oakhampton looks lovely in its early autumn array, and that Worcestershire looks such a garden after County Kildare!

My poor Parkes died two days ago, so I was just too late. She was perfectly happy in death, and I feel sure was trusting simply and joyfully in Christ. I want to thank you, Marie dear, for first putting it into my head to visit those rows of cottages. She is a kind of first-fruits among them. God grant that many more eyes there may be opened to see His salvation.

has just called, very ecstatic at having me back, of

course, and as eager as ever to get walks and talks with me. She is just a case in which one more especially feels the need of a wisdom not our own. I wish very much I could get her to read the Bible with me, but fear lest the proposal might do more harm than good. It has occurred to me that (as she knows a little Greek) she might not object to read the Greek Testament with me, and so arrive at the object that way — gilding the pill if pill it is! How I wish her parents had not been so vain of her cleverness and taste in books; it might save much mischief if she were not allowed to read so indiscriminately all the essays and reviews (three-fourths of them sceptical) that she can lay her hands upon.

(To E. C.)

BONN, January 10, 1866.

May this year be one of pressing onward, of clinging more simply and more closely to our Saviour, of brighter faith and warmer love for both of us. And specially do

I pray that it may be a year of showing forth His praise by lip and life. Faint as our light may be, if He has kindled it at all, it must shine for Him, and this is to me one of the strongest incentives to careful walking. Only I find so often, so wearily, how self creeps in, and lays its defiling hand on our holiest desires. Oh, to be freed from the dominion of self in its most subtle disguises. One cannot track out all its winding underhandedness, and here one specially feels what an unspeakable, restful comfort it is to have ’ such an High Priest,’ all-knowing, all-seeing; because we never could confess all our sin, we do not know a tithe of it, and much of what we do dimly know of it, is so subtle that we could not fully confess it in any language. So we come, even in our blindness and ignorance, and ask to be cleansed from our secret faults, from the imperfectly-understood sinfulness of our whole being, and His blood cleanseth from all sin. I think I feel and realize this sort of thing more and more, and one’s utter helplessness; ‘We know not what we should pray for as we ought ’ is not a mere generality to me, but a deeply and painfully learnt experience. Only then, this throws up into more glorious light, ‘He ever liveth to make intercession for us.’

OAKHAMPTON, Atigust 20, 1866.

... I have had an unusual amount of headache. I think I shall have more ultimate benefit from Ilfracom.be

than I found at the time. No, do not accuse of

laying the foundation thereof. My headaches and languid feelings are the remote results of a long, long spell of trouble, which made all last spring and most of the winter, perhaps the most weary and sorrowful time for such a continuance which I ever passed.

During my week with you I had a most pleasant feeling and belief, that God was giving me the refreshment I needed with His own hand, and I took it as

such, and rejoiced in it. But when I got to it was

only natural that I should feel some reaction, after so many months of sorrowful tension. ....

There are not many things that have made me more vividly conscious of the antagonism of the old and the new nature, as the pouring out of such prayers as may involve suffering in their answers. There is a shrinking, and shuddering, and wincing: one trembles at the possible form the answer may take, and is almost ready to forego the desired spiritual blessing for very cowardice; but yet one prays on, and desire is stronger than fear, heaven is stronger than earth, and one pleads and wrestles to be ‘purified and made white,’ even if these are to be inseparable from the following words, ‘and tried ’ : — * that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection,’ even if this be linked with ’ the fellowship of His sufferings.’

August 26, 1866. — I have passed a remarkably happy Easter, spent with the Boddingtons; the outward help of the services, and association with A. and E. seemed great. During April, May, and June, verily the Lord led me by a way I knew not, and never expected. I was baffled, wearied, tried, disappointed as I never dreamt I could be. I don’t know that I have ever felt anything so keenly as the strange trial of these three months, which seemed to deepen every day, and pressed upon almost every hour. It was altogether indeed not joyous but grievous, yet I am quite clear it was good for me. It struck at pride in more phases than one, and laid bare to me a ramification of self-seeking which I had not noticed in myself. It was a trial which must be borne alone — one in which I felt so helpless, so stricken, that I felt it sent me more than ever to Jesus, and it was comfort to tell Him all. I cannot say I had any very vivid consciousness of present blessing in it, or any such spiritual sunshine as at all dispersed the clouds of sorrow. I think the Lord meant me to feel it, to be really tried by it. I did plead most earnestly that ultimate blessing might result, that it might afterward yield peaceable fruits.

July brought a different story, and a new song was put in my mouth, even thanksgiving. God Himself seemed to give me a time of thorough refreshment at Luccombe, and then a summer work for Him. And again, I must set my seal to the truth of * He that watereth shall be watered.’ Nothing seems to impress God’s truths so freshly on my own heart, as earnest setting of them before another; nothing seems so to quicken me in His way. And so in my quiet walks with

dear at Lynton and Ilfracombe, and with only our

Bibles, I was enabled to guide her out of a very labyrinth of error (from reading Colenso and Essays and Reviews], and the consequent gloom and unhinging of her faith and peace — truly it was Christ’s recall to safe anchorage. Was this a remote effect of my spring troubles — an ’ afterward ’ of peaceable fruit?

I think my joy and confidence rose higher than ever before, and I even lost the fear of death, a misgiving or quiver always having seemed to underlie the thought of that. One night, during long and fervent prayer, two things struck me — ist, the words ‘I will be glad in the Lord ’ — the expression of will in the matter, why should not I rouse my will to the same, because further it is ‘glad in the Lord’ — not in anything to do with self, only in Him, and what / am, sinful and weak, alters not the manifold causes of gladness in Him. 2nd, I began to consider God’s entire satisfaction in His Son and in His works, and the thought followed, If God Himself is satisfied with Christ and His work, why should not I be? And then I felt I was satisfied with Him and with His work, and thereout grew satisfaction and peace. And the lurking fear of death seemed to melt away in this new confidence. I know not how it might be if I were put to the test, but my impression is if I were told that this hour, nay even this five minutes, were to be my last, I should not fear, but be very thankful and glad to die. For I never feared death physically, and how can one fear it spiritually while clinging to Christ. I know His words are true. May He enable me ever to stay upon Him, and to follow Him faithfully.

Again I must record less earnestness, less disposition to prayer and love of the Word, which so gladdened me all the summer. Who would guess that my mind on a Sacramental Sunday morning had been continually and repeatedly distracted, by thoughts about music, and arrangements of dress! Verily I abhor myself! How much there is in me to be ’ purified and made white ’ only He knows. My special prayer is that He would deepen and ripen His work in me. I see that even working for God is not, by far, the whole of living to Him — I want to be as well as do, then would the working, the ministering, be true and pure work for the Master and for Him only.

I was very happy some of the time in Germany. But what I know of spiritual happiness generally, resolves itself into enjoyment of prayer. I seldom or never feel vividly; I do not know what * manifestations of Christ are, I cannot say ‘I have seen Jesus.’ I have absolutely nothing of that sort to ground any confidence upon. The best and happiest times I know are when I do seem able to pour out my heart before God, when I ‘come boldly unto the throne of grace.’ But am I never to get beyond this? I speak to Jesus, and often feel very sure He hears me, but I never seem to hear Him speak to me. ‘This one thing have I desired of the Lord,’ and oh so long and so often. ‘I will manifest myself to Him.’ He has promised, and I plead it.

(ToM.F.)

1866.

... I want to send you Psalm lxxvii. 9, 10. Are you saying, ‘Hath God forgotten to be gracious?; then answer yourself as David did, and ’ remember the years of the right hand of the Most High.’ There are other instances of our God’s eternity and unchangeableness being taken as special comfort in dark seasons, e.g. Ps. cii. 23-27; Lam. v. 15, 19; Hab. i. 12; Isa, xl. 27, 28. It may be fanciful, but the expression ‘the years,’ strikes me thus. They seem a link between His infinity and our finity or finiteness. They stretch over in a wide straight vista of succession, having no end to their number; and yet again, it is not an abstract and imgraspable thought like ’ eternity,’ for ’ years ’ are necessarily divisible into days, aye, and minutes, and so seem better to meet the need of a sorrowful spirit which wants a Father’s momentary kindness and care. Not ’ random,’ you see! But it is ’ the years of the right hand.” For that He is strong in power, not one faileth ’ — and if that be true of stars and sparrows, is it less so of those for whom He ’ spared not His Son ‘? Look at His ’ right hand,’ His illimitable power, and rejoice, and be glad of it, for it is all for you, not against you. It cannot be against you, since it has been ‘against the Shepherd’ for you. Now add the eternity to the power, the ‘years ’ to the ’ right hand,’ and then say, ‘If God be for us, who can be against us?’ Rom.viii.3i. Of whom? The Most High.’ Higher than your fears, high in light above your darkness, higher than the enemy. If He is Most High, most high too in wisdom, in goodness, in love, can any flood of temptation, any clouds of darkness, rise higher than the Rock, than the Sun? And now connect this with Isa. lvii. 15.

Then go on to Ps. lxxvii. n, and remember His works, not only creation, but see the connection in which it stands in Ps. cxi. 3. Or rather begin at verse 2, and see how ’ the works of the Lord ’ are traced on through the Psalm till they culminate in verses 9 and 10.

As a little corollary to the works, do not forget to include the work He did for you, on August 2oth, and Sept. 7th.

I must tell you about. Her harp is no longer

unstrung, though the strings are struck with a trembling hand, and the melody of praise is built upon solemn and sorrowful chords of deep penitence. That was given me as my summer’s work this year — not that I was ’ sufficient,’ 7 had often tried before, but now it was ’ time ’ for Him ‘to put to His hand.’ A series of rather remarkable and most unexpected things led to our going to the sea, alone together, and I asked ‘this thing’ of the Lord. She seemed to feel solemnly that it was a ‘Now,’ for her; and her return after several years of wandering after will-o’-the-wisps of reason, and ‘biblical criticism’ and ‘oppositions of science,’ all leading her farther away from the ‘True and Only Light ’ — has been full and true and deeply penitent. I distrusted argument; I felt the heart was more than the head, and that the way to a ’ sound mind ’ was most surely found, by going direct to the Cross of Christ. And the felt power of that is more cogent than any logic, and so it proved. She has returned to her rest. I was so happy about it, as I need not tell you.

(To E. C.)

June 22, 1866.

I have lately taken to turn to the character of God for comfort. Would it be like Him the tender Father, to hold aloof from a weary, stuggling, sorrowing child, and only be really near to those to whom He has given power of prayer and. enjoyment. For if the power and the access and the peace are all His gifts (and who dare say they are not), it would be simply unfair if He gave most love and care, to those who have them, or when they have them. Therefore the only consistent conclusion is, that He is really just as near, just as loving when we do not see or feel anything that we want to do, as when we do. Also, that as His sovereignty and His love are co-equal and universal, they must be applying here; and He only withholds the enjoyment and conscious progress we long for, because He knows best what will really ripen and further us most. And do we not wrong His tenderness, by our distress at not being able to pray as we would when we feel weak and ill? Does He not know, not only that we would pray if we could, but also how much we are losing as to enjoyment by not feeling able, and so I do think sympathizing with us in this distress as much as in any other?

I send you a very simple text which has been to me the last fortnight, as a sort of golden key to many others, or a sort of seal upon them, ‘I have given them Thy Word.’ It never struck me so before, the Father’s Word and the Saviour’s gift. Now I apply this first to the word of reconciliation, the Father’s message of salvation through Christ; then to the whole Bible, which this seems to make ten times dearer — (oh. we should never have had this precious gift but for Christ’s coming); and lastly to every nice text, every sweet promise which comes into one’s mind, it seems one’s claim to appropriate it.

(To E. C.)

Autumn 1866.

I will tell you how I take Ps. lxxxiv. 9, ‘Look upon the face of Thine anointed,’ linking it with ‘Look Thou upon me’ (Ps. cxix. 132). It seems to me to imply our union with Christ as the Head of every member, even the least and lowest. We come to the Throne of grace, not only hand in hand with, not only hidden under the very mantle of our Mediator (the vesture dipped in blood thrown around us), but actually one with Him, so close, so united, that the look of loving complacency with which alone the Father can regard the Son, must embrace us too. How eloquent a face may be! And so it is, as if the Saviour’s very countenance were full of pleading for us, and our cause. So upon this ‘Face of Thine Anointed ’ we pray our God to look, knowing that it is perfectly glorious and attractive in His sight, that its intercession must be mighty and effectual, and that it is the very face of our beloved Master l whom having not seen ye love,’ and upon which the great drops of blood once stood for us.

1867.

I have read Robertson, carefully. My impression I sum up in the epithet ‘painfully interesting? Though I cordially dislike discussion, yet I should wish when I see you quietly to talk over some of his positions which appear to me untenable. I think his teaching must have unsettled and clouded some minds; better for himself and his people to have remained in the evangelical views he held at Winchester. Among other parallel, though perhaps not similar teaching, I do not find those who endorse it enjoy the restful happiness, etc., which I do see among evangelicals. Only I so fear I spoke too strongly, too dogmatically, too unhumbly, in my last letter; I know so well how little I can wish to be taken as a specimen of an ’ evangelical,’ how far behind others I stand. I wish I could ’ adorn ’ more. God has taught you in many things more deeply than He has me, and I am too apt to forget this and speak to you in a tone to which I have no right. Forgive me, if I have done so.

Intellectually, I have rarely read anything more interesting than Robertson, and many of his ideas are gems and his language a golden setting of no common order. The book is far too wide a subject for letters, for I should not like merely to skim any topic. I think you could not have had my last letter before you when you wrote. Just look, and you will see that you argue for what I never denied, but distinctly admitted as a truth, the Fatherhood of God. You quote to me the very text which I quoted to you as establishing it. Eph. iv. 6, ‘One God and Father of all.’ My position was not, ‘Is it a fact?’ but, ‘What is the relative prominence which, following the lead of the New Testament, we are to give to it, as an admitted fact? ‘I think we should seek not merely to take our facts but our modes of presenting them from the great source. And what I contend for is that this is not the prominent doctrine of the New Testament, that this is not the message of reconciliation, not the ’ good news ’ (though it is good news in itself), not ’ the power of God unto salvation; ’ and so that we have no right to invert the order of God’s truths any more than to tamper with those truths themselves, and 1 think there is danger in so doing. With the words before me, ‘No man cometh unto the Father but by Me ’ (John xiv. 6), I could not look for blessing, for conversion as resulting from the presentation alone, and in the first place, of the ‘Fatherhood.’ This truth, most blessed in itself, can be of no practical avail by itself; and I do not think your experience, or that of any one else, can furnish I ‘“• •’” ’ ‘-• — — — -. mi — r J

an instance to the contrary. And why try to ignore God’s own beautiful arrangement ’ but by Me ‘? Is God any less our Father for being so c in Christ ‘? Is His Fatherhood any less wide and glorious, in that the privileges of sonship, flow through the ‘Elder Brother,’ who is the manifestation of the unseen Father?

I have been looking through the Epistles, our great exponents of Christianity, with an eye to the * Universal Fatherhood,’ and the impression left on my mind is that so far from being the special or prominent point of New Testament teaching, it is almost studiously kept in the background; I was really surprised to find how much so. Generally it is: ist, ‘The Father of our Lord Jesus Christ;’ 2nd, ‘The Father’ — used in direct juxtaposition expressed or implied, with one of the names of the Son, as a distinguishing title; 3rd, ‘Our Father ’ — used by the Apostle (I am struck with this) specially as spoken by a Christian to Christians. The only exceptions which do not seem to fall under one of these three heads which I can find are James i. 27, and iii. 9, both of which it seems quite reasonable to place under No. 2, the expression in Heb. xii. 9, ‘Father of spirits;’ and strongest of all, but standing unique, is Eph. iv. 6, ‘One God and Father of all,’ on which last alone you can take your stand. Now from this I argue that ‘the mind of the Spirit ’ is not to give special prominence to this truth, in so far as it is truth. And that there is a much nearer and deeper sense, in which God is the Father of His believing children, seems plain from 2 Cor. vi. 17, 18, where the promise annexed to the command, ‘Come out from among them and be ye separate,’ is, ‘I will be a Father unto you, And it seems to me to be a sort of mockery to hold out, under the semblance of a gracious promise, something which is already in one’s possession; I think God must mean something far more here than what is common to all. And I do think we should strive to make all our teaching as accordant as possible with the ‘mind of the Spirit,’ trying in our humble measure to give prominence, weight, and emphasis to each truth in the same proportion in which we find it in God’s Word. I take my stand by Rom. i. 16: ‘For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ; for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth.’

1867.

You will hardly understand, unless I could have a long talk, how and why that little book distressed me for you. To own the truth, it so haunted and troubled me that I lost many hours’ sleep during the first three nights after I got it. I cannot think how it is you do not see that the nature of poison is to neutralize the otherwise wholesomeness of its vehicle. What is called merely ’ alloyed,’ I call Romish errors thinly enough disguised, and veiled by well-sounding language of earnestness and devotion. Their idea of ’ saving souls ’ is wide of ours, — what are outward forms, daily services, ritual and music, or even Confirmation and Communion, when they are placed so prominently as the things needful? If you can sympathize and fraternize with those who make no secret of restoring Confession and cognate evils, holding Romish Sacraments, giving an ostentatious right hand of fellowship to the Church of Rome (as they do at the very beginning of the book), above all, who want another than the one and only and once-offered ‘Blessed Sacricnan in fice,’ then I can only say, How can you expect me to sympathize and fraternize with you? how can we walk together except we are agreed? Of course you may, on reconsideration, explain away some of its speciousness, but I cannot help grieving that you are so easily caught by any seeming ‘angel of light,’ and I shall fear for future temptations which the enemy will well know how to contrive for you with gilded errors, and poisoned truths, and ‘fair show in the flesh.’ I cannot think how you could expect me to take any other view of the book, and I am only glad you sent it me, because it gives me a new and very special subject for prayer.

And now God has indeed sent me a bright sunbeam, after the heavy cloud I told you of in my last letter, and I take it as an earnest that that cloud too, can be and

will be dispersed. If you think it will please, ask

if he remembers giving a little copy of The Blood

of Jesus. For it is that identical copy which has conveyed the message of peace to two hearts — poor Parkes,

who died so happily last summer, and now to. I

had lent it in some fear and trembling; but that little book was God’s messenger, and all is changed, and so wonderfully, that it seems almost too good to be true, to

hear say the very opposite of what she used to, and

that so evidently from God’s own teaching, for she has never in books, sermons, or companions come under evangelical influence. She knows nothing of what is called religious phraseology, and yet she says the very things which, though so fresh to her, are old to us. I never saw such a distinct instance of the ’ power of the cross of Christ,’ and such a revolution of the whole mind by the simple acceptance of His death as our atonement

She wants no speculative books, finds no difficulty in ’ difficulties,’ and only wants to learn of Christ. There are breakers ahead as to the next London season, and, having been accustomed to look upon us, as perfect phenomena for not approving of balls and operas, I can hardly expect her to do quite as we do at once, and have said very little about it, feeling quite sure (and I have told her so) that she will find for herself that the new and old enjoyments do not and never can harmonize, and that she will have to choose between peace and pleasures, not as a matter of opinion, but of personal fact. However, of her own accord she wishes never to go to a regular ball again, but does not yet see her way

on the opera question, on which, unhappily, is very

strong.

I think you judged me a little severely last autumn; you would not quite believe what indeed was the truth,

when I told you that my music with was not an

end but a means. Indeed, my feeling in that duetplaying was very little for the music. I cared far less for that than you thought; I only thought it my fairest and

likeliest means for getting intimate with, and

gaining an influence over her. When she became willing to listen about better things, we gradually exchanged the practising for walks, so as to talk. Music was my grappling-iron only; it is not the first time it has been so, and as such I do desire to use it, and feel that if I neglected it entirely, it would be hiding a talent under a napkin.

And with regard to my singing, I have prayed so much and so often on this subject, and the more I do, the more I feel I should dp harm to religion by taking a different course. I have prayed to be made perfectly honest with myself, but I cannot see it otherwise. I never sing without prayer, and I do believe that in many cases my singing has been felt as His message. I might feel differently about secular music, but that I never sing now, as you know. I believe that in such singing I am speaking for my Master. I do feel it so, and was told not long ago by a Christian what a privilege and responsibility I ought to feel it to be able to do so. If I ever saw a shade of doubt upon this, I should not hesitate to throw it up.

Ask to pray for me. I do so believe in intercessory prayer, and I know she would pray intensely for me if she knew what bitter tears I have shed. Tell her the ground or not; anyhow, tell her I am in what is to me great trouble. I only hope I shall be kept calm and deliberate, and kept from doing anything hastily. So I share in something of your feeling of uncertainty. Do

not fear, dear, but that your way will be ‘made

plain,’ only it may not be that you will be shown the opening till you are close upon it. I feel vividly in this most sore trial how true H. E.’s remark is, ’ that it is the presence of the element of evil which constitutes the real bitterness of a trial.’

Do you know what it is to feel a terrible sort of temporary paralyzation of soul, coming when least expected, and when it seems full of spiritual disappointment?...

Autumn 1867.

What you say about prayer is just an instance of theory versus practice. What have we to do with understanding how prayer (intercessory, etc.) is effectual?

Nothing whatever is revealed about it that I know of, so the theoretical part is undoubtedly among the ’ secret things which belong unto the Lord our God.’ I do not care to ’ see any way out of the difficulty ’ — the difficulty itself lies so entirely beyond the possible range of human vision that one cannot see into it. What does * belong unto us’ in the matter is, an overwhelming trinity of precept, promise, and experience in the matter. We must be right, we cannot be mistaken in trusting to these. Even after Mary had asked, ‘How shall this be? ’ and had received a fuller and clearer response than we can presume to expect to any of our ’ hows] I do not suppose she anything like fully understood the how, and her meek answer, ‘Be it unto me according to Thy word! may well be ours in these most gracious revelations touching the marvellous power of prayer.

I think the * Attic salt ’ is not a bad idea. But in addition to that, I think I can see a subtle connection even with the ‘preservative quality.’ Let our speech be seasoned with such salt as shall preserve both itself and that, with which it is interchanged, from any taint or corruption.

I have got on so slowly with studying St. Matthew, and not at all satisfactorily as to references. Several evenings I have read without even looking for one. I felt as if I wanted only to pray it and feel it, rather than study it; and some parts I wanted to read over again.

I have somehow had plenty of odd and end work thrown in my way all this week, such as illness in various directions. Yesterday four different kinds of * ministration ’ turned up for me, all so different as almost to stand as types of the chief sorts, which could well fall to me. The last would have amused you. A party of Wolverhampton lads begged ’ coppers to get a night’s lodging,’ last evening as I was hurrying home; they were ragged fellows out of work, and trying for harvesting. I gave them a trifle, and then talked to them. They seemed astonished, but stood round me like a class, and listened for a good while in perfect silence, thanking me, and wishing me good-night most respectfully when I had done. Three were Romanists; and two more, nominal Protestants, did not even know their clergyman’s name, or ever dreamt of going to church. It was indeed seed by the wayside, but who knows — it may spring up.

Thank you very much for your note and birthday thoughts. I would far rather be spoken to plainly and faithfully than be made the best of, as some do to me. I hope and believe that I am not deceiving myself, but nothing seems so awful to me as the idea of false peace. Somehow I never have had any clear perception of i John v. 12; it does not convey the vivid and distinct realizable ideas to me, which the two preceding verses do, in connection with which, I have always taken it. Why should I make God a liar by not believing His record? and what is His record? ‘That He hath given us eternal life,’ not that I am to carve it out for myself; only to May hold’ of it by simply taking Him at His word and accept it. This I trust I do, feeling that such is my needy helplessness that no other salvation would have reached me, and thanking Him for such ’ exceeding great love.’ Not that I always realize this as I would, nay, it is seldom that it possesses me, as I wish it always could; but when I think of it, it seems as impossible to retract my belief in this blessed ’ record ’ as it once did to believe it. Am I unwittingly wrong? Write me a scrap if opportunity. Please practise * O rest in the Lord,” O Thou that tellest,” But the Lord is mindful,’ and anything you may hit upon that is low enough for me, as I so like you to play my accompaniments, dear Marie.

SHARESHILL, 1867.

I do not agree with you as to Luke xvi. 2, * Give an account of thy stewardship ’ being the key to o, primary and real sense of ‘Not your own.’ The context (see i Cor. vi. 19, 20) is about our bodies being the temple of the Holy Ghost: ‘And ye are not your own, for ye are bought with a price: therefore glorify God in your body and in your spirit which are God’s.’ This of course may be taken to imply the dedication of what we have, i.e. property, to God, as a natural deduction from it, but the primary idea is plainly the dedication of ourselves. And I do think, and all my own little experience among poor or unlearned goes to prove, that instead of being ’ above their understanding,’ nothing will more readily reach and touch their hearts than the story of that love which bought them with such a price; and when that is received and believed, the ‘Not your own ’ follows with a force which nothing else but this, (the connection in which God Himself has placed it) can or ever does give. It becomes, not a ‘highly refined,’ but a natural and inevitable view of it. There cannot be true and acceptable dedication of substance without dedication of self, (see Article XIII.) and dedication of self, true and unreserved, can only spring from love and gratitude for His ’ inestimable love in the redemption of the world by our Lord Jesus Christ.’ You know who first ‘gave their own selves to the Lord.’

If on any drawing-room table you see Lyra Britannica, look at it. It is a capital collection of everybody’s hymns from Wesley, to J. M. Neale, with little biographical notices of each writer, which are most interesting, and settle lots of doubtful authorships. Papa figures well, and the editor has also inserted me, but in the second of my hymns has made a most foolish mistake, which I wish you would alter for me in any copy you come across. I could not please myself with the last verse, and wrote two versions, asking the editor to choose which he thought best, and cross off the other. He forgot to do so, and so both verses stand, looking as if I had not an idea to spare, and was reduced to writing the same twice over in different words!

1867.

I cannot remember distinctly, except as a ‘horror of thick darkness’ hanging over the memory of last September and October. It was a time of more than common spiritual distress, even like a flood. A letter and some verses of M. C.’s were God’s chosen means to draw me out of it into peace and light. This is the first time, as far as I remember, that any quite direct human instrumentality has ever seemed much immediate use to me. Since then I have been tolerably happy, though far from well, and it is good for me to feel His restraining hand. It has been trying to me, this ill -health. Very humbling to be a burden and a care, where I would rather have been a help and a lightener. I prayed so much that this my last year at O. might be one of marked blessing to myself and those around me. And yet for six months I am thus held back from anything at all. Is it presumptuous to hope it is that I may myself be prepared to receive and give blessing before its close. I see a needs - be in this spring’s trial, for I am far enough from being willing to be nothing and no one. Pride and selfishness are indeed hydra-headed, and any victory seems a prelude to a fresh battle. So it is evident this cross is just needful.

But I hardly understand another part of it: I have had to lay my poetizing aside! And yet such open doors seemed set before me. Perhaps the check is sent just that I may consecrate what I do more entirely. I have not the same temptation to vanity as years ago about this. I have a curiously vivid sense, not merely of my verse faculty in general being given me, but of every separate poem or hymn, nay every line, being given. I never write the simplest thing now without prayer for help. I suppose this sense arises from the fact that I cannot write exactly at will. It is peculiarly pleasant thus to take every thought, every verse as a direct gift; and it is not a matter of effort, it is purely involuntary, and I feel it so. This entirely precludes the old temptation when I wrote in 1860. And yet in spite of this, I trace a distinct desire to have a name. I wonder if this is really wrong in itself. It does not present itself to me as a sin, provided the desire is reasonable and not over-eager. And I have many reasons for it, and I do not think it is over-eager at present; possibly because it is not near and tangible enough. Still I see danger ahead in this direction, and I must pray for protecting grace.

(To E. C.)

i ELIZABETHAN VILLAS, WESTON-SUPER-MARE,
May 4, 1867.

... But I do not regret this spring in the least: I am sure it was far better for me than going on in my own chosen paths. Is it not singular that, having made it my special and continuous prayer that this year might be a marked one in blessing, I should have been entirely held back for this first half of it, from any effort whatever! But I think I can honestly say I am satisfied, and that God has answered my prayer, that He would enable me not merely to submit, but quite cheerfully to acquiesce in everything.

I so fear that you are overdoing yourself, and may suffer for it afterwards. How difficult it must be to have apparently to choose one’s own path! But the guiding Hand is over it still. I was so struck in reading Deut. i. to-day with ver. 33 — the Lord searching them out a place to pitch their tents in, etc. Does He careless for His spiritual Israel, for the children whom He hath given to His Son? Surely not. I had just heard of mother’s having gone to Shrewsbury to see if it would do for us, and look at houses. But I think I thought still more of you, and prayed that the fiery pillar might lead you.

PYRMONT VILLA, 1867.

DEAR Miss TITTERTON, — In case I do not see you I must scribble a few lines (excuse pencil, as I write reclining when I can). I write, but I feel more inclined to give you a loving kiss. How kind of you to send me

Mrs. Ashby’s allegory of ‘The Lilies! ’ 1 It is touchingly sweet and true; and even had you not added to the interest by telling me about the writer, I should have felt that it was no mere fancy, but the transcript of truth graven deeply on a living and quivering, yet loving heart. 1 At any cost ’ the blessed Stranger waits patiently, and comes again and again to His children, till they can look up and say it, perhaps very tearfully, but unreservedly. How little will ‘any cost’ seem when His work is perfected /// us, and, by His work for us, we find the ’ abundant entrance ’ into His heavenly kingdom! That will be a glorious ’ nevertheless afterward,’ of the perfect fruition of His chastening; but there is a sweet and precious ‘nevertheless afterward,’ in a nearer future, linked with every trial our Father’s hand sends. I think we should look out hopefully and patiently, for this corresponding light, in even the lightest and smallest shadows of life the least trial has its own ’ nevertheless afterward ’ if we only do not miss it by wrong use of it, much more than in the really dark and heavy ones.

Did you mean that you had copied ‘Lilies ’ for me? I should so much like to keep it if I may, and it will not lie idle. I know more than one to whom I believe it will be cheering. It did me good really and I thank you so much for it.

1867.

I want you to join the Saturday evening Y. W. C. A. Prayer Union. There are now more than 2000 members, including several of my own friends, whose names are written down in my Bible. The idea is this. The young women (of all classes) unite in prayer, first for them- 1 Lilies and Shamrocks Nisbet & Co.

selves, i.e. the members, that they may be personally blessed in work among others; 2nd, for the young women of England as a class, high and low; 3rd, each one for the especial individuals for whom she is interested. The Branch Associations are where young women have prayer meetings for the same object among themselves, as well as the private Saturday evening prayers. My friend Clara Gedge, who asked me to join, has such a meeting herself.

You know how rarely I feel things vividly; but on Saturday eve, I certainly had a very sweet and singular feeling of enjoyment in the consciousness of being one of 2000, all joining in prayer for the same objects. I shall feel it an additional link with you, dear Elizabeth (if any were needed!).

I think it rather better to multiply than combine branches. I find a general reluctance to pray aloud — so I always open with a quite short prayer — ask one to pray after the requests before reading, and now and then I get another to pray after, but often have to close myself. I think the danger of pressing to pray must be judged of in each individual case or locality. I have not found one whose danger lies in the direction of being too forward or elated, but quite the reverse. Mrs. Rogers has all quite poor cottage women; some can’t read. The only objection to mixing sets is that if there are fewer present, and all of a sort, one is more likely to get freedom of prayer and remarks. Otherwise I should prefer mixed and larger meetings.

(To M. V. G. H.)

PYRMONT VILLA.

... Bishop Gobat (dear saintly man) preached twice on Sunday, and on Monday had a drawing-room meeting at Miss Rose’s. The girls sang ‘On the mountain-top appearing, No. 871, S. G. G., to Papa’s tune ‘Zaanaim.’ This tune is often sung in the English Church on Mount Zion. The dear old Bishop laid himself out to be catechized about Jerusalem, and his work there.

Your poetical request at the Y. W. C. meeting answered first-rate, it amused and interested, and has produced no end of rubbish, ribbon and scraps enough to rig out all your Wyre Hill school, I should think. You had better return poetical thanks at the next meeting — a little gratitude won’t be a bad investment, and I think you will get Leamington rag-bags whenever you want any henceforth for your poor in Bewdley.

When in London, I had the greatest fun at my second singing lesson, which, by the bye, although my cold had affected my voice a good deal, was a very satisfactory one. Signer Randegger is in such amusing ecstasies over my verses (‘My Singing Lesson,’ see Memorials, page 90); he said they were ’ so wonderfully clever and witty,’ and * such an embodiment of his ideas.’ They have been kept on his table ever since, and shown to everybody, ’ including nearly all the first professionals! ‘That morning he had read them to Rudersdorff and Cummings, and the editor of the Musical World. The latter wants to have them to insert. Then the Signor had a great favour to ask. My ‘astonishing facility’ betrayed a practised hand, ‘Would I favour him with some verses to set to music? Could I bring him something next time?’ which of course I shall do. I was seized with a horrible fear after I had sent the ‘Notes of a Singing Lesson,’ lest the Signor might be touchy and southern-tempered, and fancy I was making game of him and his instructions. However, I shall be a clear gainer by it, for he is evidently disposed to take twice the pains with my voice. He says I am not a true contralto, but a mezzo-soprano.

... I heard Spurgeon one Sunday A.M. Magnificent! I don’t recollect ever hearing anything finer. Heard Dr. T. the Sunday before at Westminster Abbey, P.M. Service — cold and argumentative, and decidedly unimpressive. Papa’s Efr chant to the Psalms was grandly chanted at the Abbey.

That ‘Tabernacle ’ is certainly one of the most remarkable sights in the world — the end of the season and London half empty, but it was thronged, and always is, twice every Sunday; and more than half are men, and intellectual-looking ones too.

I saw Dore’s pictures, marvellous colouring, every sort of coloured light seems his forte, sunlight, fairy moonlight, starlight, celestial light, or infernal light! Illustrated News critique is most untrue and unfair — would not have given them credit for such fibs. Nothing very

striking at Royal Academy.

1869.

I don’t know anything that is more refreshment to me

1 Twelve poems, Sacred Songs for Little Singers, were sent to the Signor. The book is dedicated to H.R.H. Princess Beatrice, music by Randegger. Publisher: Novello £ Co.

than our Y. W. C. A. monthly meetings. The last was a peculiarly nice one — never had so very many nice remarks before, and the secretary told me that never had there seemed to be such good and general refreshment and stimulus to the members. There had been special prayer beforehand that it might be so; I am sure I found it so myself, and all I have since met remarked the same. It was a sort of little epoch to me, for I ventured on taking the prayer for the first time! I had been specially asked and always declined; but I thought it hardly seemed right not to take my share, as I am among the older members; it was immense effort to begin, but I believe God distinctly helped me. One special point I took up in prayer was home trials — the daily worry, and wear and tear, which every one I suppose has in some form, which generally can’t be talked about and has no sympathy — no two people have just the same. — don’t you think there is an immense deal of this in seemingly very happy homes? / do. I prayed that all this might be God’s chiselling — you will easily follow out the idea of ’ lively stones ’ — the Y. W. C. A. February subject. We reverted to it again in the reading. As I expected, it was a chord that vibrated. If we pray for our own special needs, it is wonderful what echoes there are in other hearts. If one’s feet are very tender and sensitive, it is as bad to walk on fine gravel .barefoot as over great boulders!

I am reading the Globe edition of Shakespeare — it was forbidden ground in my younger days. I have also made acquaintance with R. Browning’s Paracelsus; it is marvellous — love alone and knowledge alone imperfect life — union of both, the true thing. But he is tiring to read, and wants great attention.

I hope you will get to know Charlotte Elliot; it is an honour from God to have had it given her, to write what she has written.

March 20, 1869.

I wonder why, ’ now it is come upon thee! ‘Some meetening for the Master’s use, you know not when, or where, is perhaps to be its peaceable fruit. But oh! I wish very foolishly, and ignorantly of course, that the Master would find some less sorrowful way.

I had been thinking of you, but little guessing what our Father in heaven was leading you through. I know it is terrible — a sorrow from which there is no earthly comfort. But how much heavenly! All loss to you, all gain to him; and by this Very grief of yours is he spared the possibility of ever feeling such, if any of his dear ones had been taken before himself, instead of his going home first. You are bearing it instead. I send you * A Little While.’’ He said it, Jesus, our dear Saviour. And it is but a little while, and then He will be with you through the darkest part of that little while.

‘Entered into life,’ how sweet and beautiful!

I have been thinking how hard it is to realize what is yet as absolute fact as our own existence. That your beloved father has really and truly seen his Master face to face, is seeing Him in His beauty — Jesus Himself; that he has received the ‘Well done, good and faithful servant; ’ is actually, as actually as you are mourning below, entered into the joy of his Lord! A week ago with you, now with Jesus!..,

God must mean some blessing to you by this sorrow.

I arn sure its ’ nevertheless afterward,’ which you do not see, and are not required to see, will be proportioned to the sorrow.

Do you remember sending me, when I was fearing a cloud that has never yet come, * They feared as they entered into the cloud,’ and the two following verses? You have entered into the cloud, but the voice is there, and Jesus is there....

Don’t you find that when one is brought into any new trial, it is like reaching a whole new vein of promises, getting into fresh strata altogether; it is not one or two isolated ones, but as if an entirely fresh side of the Bible were turned out towards one, which we never saw at all before. I have felt this three times in a very strong and striking way (as well as in lesser trials), so that now, if any new sort of trial befalls me, I should expect this to recur again....

‘AH your need.’ — Sometimes that ‘all’ seems so great and deep and varied, such an almost infinity of need; but ‘God shall supply ’ not only follows but precedes it; and it is so in our lives as well as in the wording of the verse....

Are you not very conscious of the detaching power of sorrow? Ah! but it is attaching too — only the attaching to things not seen.

How utterly certain is the promise, ‘Shall receive the crown of life ‘! I have often thought that one of the joys of heaven will be to see our beloved and honoured ones so crowned (To (the late)J. S. Curwen.)

1869.

During the winter months we opened two nice rooms every evening, and gave free invitation to young dressmakers and others, (especially those living in lodgings,) hoping that it would prove a safe and pleasant retreat for them after work hours. Classes were arranged for each evening in the smaller room; in the other, the girls read, wrote, worked, or chatted. It was not so successful as to numbers as we expected, but the attendance on the evening on which I gave a Tonic Sol-fa lesson was nearly double. I tell you frankly that it was not for the sake of Sol-fa that I began the class, but solely because I believed it was the greatest attraction I could contribute to our little scheme for bringing them within the range of Christian care and influence. My chief reason for adopting it with them, instead of the established notation, was that all the Sol-fa songs are sound and safe; and I knew I could not give them access to anything low or bad through it, while I had no such certainty had I taught the old notation. This weighed with me more than the obvious and indisputable advantages of greater facility, cheapness, etc., which the Tonic Sol-fa system has. There was no question as to the class being attractive, and great was the disappointment when, as frequently happened, the members were kept at work too late and * lost the singing.’

One evening two girls came in panting and flushed, about fifteen minutes before the close. ‘Why, Lizzie and Jane, what is the matter? ’ We were kept overtime; but we thought half a loaf better than no bread, so we never stopped running till we got here.’ They had literally run a good mile to be in time for a few minutes’ singing.

One nice girl who had just begun forming acquaintances which would have led to no good, and to sauntering about the streets, was attracted to our rooms solely by the singing-class, but soon became one of our most regular attendants at all the classes; and we have reason to hope that she is not only saved from the dangers into which she was rushing, but that good impressions have been made, and a good work begun in her heart. I have no musical results to show, for after about eight lessons, I was interrupted by illness: but I believe that my Tonic Sol-fa class has been a grappling-iron to draw many little drifting vessels close to our side, bringing them within hearing of loving and sympathizing words, and of the One name which is sweeter than any music.