1861–1869

Oakhampton — A new power — gifts — Deep borings — Subjects for prayer — Hiller’s commendation — Remarkable power of harmonizing — Welcome to Winterdyne — Stormy petrelism — Sent empty away — Calmer waters — Joining Young Women’s Christian Association — London — ‘‘ Guess my birthday treat!” — Signor Randegger — Epitome of his first singing lesson — New home at Leamington — How poems - came — My Evelyn ! — ‘‘ The Two. Rings” — Weary and sad — First sight of Alpine mountains,

IN February 1861, by the wish of her sister and her brother-in-law Henry Crane, Frances undertook the instruction of her two youngest nieces, and made Oakhampton her second home. Her father approved of this plan, because he thought it would prevent her from pursuing the severe studies so prejudicial to her health. The lesson hours were very short, owing to the temperament of both teacher and pupils, and she had many and long changes of scene, at the seaside, at home and abroad. She entered with zest into the recreations of her young companions, riding and scrambling, swimming and skating, croquet and chess, each in its turn, and excelled in them all. Her needlework was exquisite, from the often despised darning to the most delicate lace work and embroidery. How she redeemed her time these few lines will prove: “Stirring you up, dearie, to mental improvement is no new subject to me. I know, by my own teaching days, how very much might be learnt in all the odds and ends of time, how (eg.) I learnt all the Italian verbs while my nieces were washing their hands for dinner after our walk, because I could be ready in five minutes less time than they could.” The faithful old nurse well remembers “vexing over Miss Frances’s hard studying, and that she found her at those,Latin books long before breakfast.”

Her one great object was the education of her nieces for eternity, not for time only; and not merely religious knowledge, but the realities of faith and holy living, were dwelt upon.

From the close of her Autobiography, darkness seems often to have clouded her path. From time to time she writes:

I had hoped that a kind of table-land had been reached in my journey, where I might walk awhile in the light, without the weary succession of rock and hollow, crag and morass, stumbling and striving; but I seem borne back into all the old difficulties of the way, with many sin-made aggravations, I think the great root of all my trouble and alienation is that I do not now make an unreserved surrender of myself to God; and until this is done I shall know no peace. I am sure of it. I have so much to regret: a greater dread of the opinion of worldly friends, a loving of the world, and proportionate cooling in heavenly desire and love. A power. utterly new and unexpected was given me [singing and composition of music], and rejoicing in this I forgot the Giver, and found such delight in this that other things paled before it. It need not have been so; and, in better moments, I prayed that if it were indeed hindering me the gift of song might be withdrawn. And now that through my ill health it is so, and that the pleasure of public applause when singing in the Philharmonic concerts is not again to exercise its delicious delusion, I do thank Him who heard my prayer. But I often pray in the dark, as it were, and feel no response from above. Is this to test me? Oh that I may be preserved from giving up in despair, and yielding, as I so often do, to the floodtide enemy.

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 would sound fair enough in words, an element of self, of lurking pride, may be detected. Oh, that He would indeed purify me and make me white at any cost! No one professing to be a Christian at all could possibly have had a more cloudy, fearing, doubting, sinning, and wandering heart history than mine has been through many years.

The first part of this year (1865) I was very poorly, and on the old régime of having to give up everything, Sunday school and Saturday evening class, visiting, music, etc. It was very trying to me, specially so because I had rather built upon being stronger, and several points of interest had arisen which made me feel the more being shut off from all. But it was very good for me; I was able to feel thankful for it, and to be glad that God had taken me in hand as it were. Ido not think I would have chosen otherwise than as He ordered it forme; but it seems.as if my spiritual life would never go without weights, and I dread needing more discipline.

Deep borings, even down into darksome depths, often precede the supply of unfailing springs of refreshing water. Thus my dear sister knew much of doubt and gloom, so that she might be able to comfort others and reveal to them God’s deep teachings in the darkness. Then, when she afterwards found such joy in the wells of salvation, she drew forth these teachings, refreshing other weary and thirsty ones with her words of sympathy both in poetry and prose..

It may be useful to copy the paper kept in her Bible, showing how she arranged the subjects of her prayers.

for daily Morning Prayer. Watchfulness. Guard over temper. Consistency,

Faithfulness to opportunities. For the Holy Spirit. For a vivid love to Christ.

Mid-day Prayer. Earnestness of spirit in desire, in prayer, and in all work, Faith, hope, love.

Evening Prayer. Forgiveness. To see my sinfulness in its true light. Growth in grace. Against morning sleepiness as hindrance to time for prayer.

The initials of all her relatives and friends are distributed to each day, and various items of intercession added, such as:

That my life may be laid out to the best advantage as to God’s glory and others’ good. For the Church Missionary Society and Zenana work. For success and usefulness with my subscribers. For the poor whom I visit. For the Irish Society. Guidance and (if it is God’s will) success as to music. For my Sunday school

class. For the servants.

In the winter of 1865-6 Frances revisited her German friends, and also resided some time with her parents at Bonn.

Having composed many songs, she was anxious for some verdict on their merit. The following letter describes her interview with Hiller, the German musician.

CLapTon Square, Lebruary 1, 1866.
Dear MIRIAM,- —

I must take up my history where I left off, and give you

the Cologne story at last. To begin at the beginning,

Elizabeth C. told the Schulzeberges of my composing, and so they were curious about it and wanted me to go to the Musical Academy of Cologne. As I declared that out of the question, they hoped I would go to Ferdinand Hiller, whom they consider the greatest living composer and authority, and show him my songs. I shrunk from this because I expected nothing but utter quenching from such a man; still I thought that after all I might as well know the worst, and if he thought scorn of all I had done, that would decide me to waste no more time over it; while, if I got a favourable verdict, if ever opportunity should arise of prosecuting the study of composition, I should do so with a clearer conscience and better hopes. To my utter amazement, papa quite urged me to go, and a pleasant mirage of a possible musical term at Cologne screwed my courage up to writing to Hiller, who replied kindly, and made an appointment with me. I went with mamma, such a queer way among the Rhine wharfs, and through narrow streets scarcely wide enough for the droschky to pass, till we emerged in a more open part, and found Hiller’s abode. He is a small elderly man, quiet in manner, of handsome and peculiar Jewish physiognomy (he is a Jew), with a forehead remarkably like papa’s, and terribly clever looking eyes; I think one would single him out as a genius among any number. He was in a double room full of musical litter, with a handsome grand piano in the middle. He received us very politely, and asked mea few questions (he is a man of few words), and then took my book of songs and sat down to vead it through,’ giving mea volume of poetry to amuse myself with meanwhile. You may imagine I didn’t read much! He made

INTERVIEW WITH HILLER. “7

no remark till he was about three quarters through, when he turned and said: “What instruction have you had?” I told him of Hatherley’s having corrected my first six songs, and that I had a musical father to whom I occasionally referred difficult points, and with whom I had musical talk in general. “I do not care anything about that,” said he, ‘I mean what regular musical course have you gone through, and under what professor?” I told him I had done nothing of the sort? He looked very hard at me, as if to see if I was telling the truth, and then turned back to my music, saying, ‘‘ In that case I find this very remarkable!” When he had finished he delivered his verdict, the worst part first. He said my melodies bore the stamp of talent, not of genius. “In the early works of great composers,” he said, “‘one comes across things that startle and strike you; ideas so utterly fresh and novel that you feel there is great creative power. Ido not find this in your melodies; they are not bad; on the contrary I find them very pleasing and many really very good, but they are thoroughly English in character and type; I do not consider that English melodies rank highest. ~But, as for your harmonies, I must say I am astonished. It is something singular to find such grasp of the subject, such power of harmonization, except where there has been long and thorough study and instruction; here I can give almost unlimited praise.’ ° I told him my question was (for I thought I would take a high standard at once) not, had I talent enough to make music a mere pleasure to myself and my friends? but had I enough to make it worth while to devote myself to music as a serious thing, asa life work? Was there promise enough to make it an advisable investment of my life, in case I wished to do so? He said: “Sincerely and unhesitatingly I can say that you Aave.” I remarked how much I should like to study at Cologne, and under himself, He said he should like to have the training of me; but, if distance were a difficulty, there were reliable men in London, and he would recommend his friend Macfarren. But I was to go to no second-rate man, that would be simply no use to me; I could only gain the polish and ‘‘ form” which my work wanted, from some one really first-rate. He recommended mea book on harmony (which I procured in Cologne), and then wrote a few lines to papa, saying he had found a good deal of musical talent in my compositions, and that “‘ but a short time would be sufficient to place me ina state to give a good form to the musical ideas with which I was gifted.” I did not expect all this; and though I shall not do anything at present, it is pleasant to know I have a talent, which I may some day develop to some purpose, for I never quite believed what Dr. Marshall said about it, and I thought, if I had the talent he said I had, I should /eeZ cleverer, somehow, than I do. Papa is vexed because when Hiller asked “Spielen sie gut?” (do you play well?) I replied simply “No, not well,” because I thought he would judge by-a professional standard. Papa says I ought to have then offered to - play one of my things, but I had not the pluck or the presence of mind.... I supposed you would like to hear all about Hiller, else it seems conceited to’ have written so much.

Now for the home journey to Lille and a pleasant visit to Mons. and Madame V — — ’s, Their country

house is about a mile out of the town.... It was pleasant to meet old friends, and it is quite fascinating to get, also, a spice of fresh characters and life. Next morning Mons. V. took me about the lower rooms, and gave me an amusing description of Lille life. He is a sort of chieftain of the clan, which consists of about 270 nephews and nieces, and their children. He keeps them all in order. “Ona grand peur de mon oncle Emile,” says he; “if I see what I do not like I lecture them de manitre qu’on s’en souviendra.” But, on the other hand, “mon oncle Emile” is rich, and can be very gracious, and is worth keeping on good terms with. Every Sunday there are thirty-eight who “have the right” to dine with him, and every Wednesday evening he receives a wider circle in a large galerie, glass above and all round, like an immense enclosed verandah, so pretty with creepers and fancy plants all about. It overlooks his orangery and greenhouses, ornamental water with two bridges, pretty trees, a most charming view altogether.

Such a good crossing from Calais; the sea quite glassy! I leaned over the side and watched the foam and curl of the water behind the paddles, and wrote verses [Travelling Thoughts”] in my account book. I was able to see the white cliffs of Dover for the first time, and was almost sorry to leave the boat.

Your loving sister.

It may not be out of place here to mention that such was the strength of her musical memory, that she would play through Handel, much of Beethoven and Mendelssohn, without any notes. A pupil of Beethoven thought her rendering of the

Moonlight Sonata perfect; her touch was instinct with soul, as also was her singing.

During her stay at Oakhampton her brother-inlaw engaged Dr. Wm. Marshall to give her singing lessons; and she attended the meetings of the Philharmonic Society at Kidderminster, of which he was the conductor. The practice of sacred music was an extreme gratification to her, and she soon became a valued solo singer. Her rendering of Mendelssohn’s “Woe unto them,” “But the Lord is mindful of His own,” are remembered as peculiarly effective, though it was in Handel’s music that she more particularly delighted.

The ease with which Frances constantly versified family events is shown in the following lines, written when Mr. and Mrs. Shaw left Ireland, for their English home at Winterdyne.

WELCOME TO WINTERDYNE.
(Lor December 14th, 1866.)

FRANCIE and Willie, welcome to you!
Alfred and Alice, welcome too!

To an English home and English love

Welcome each little Irish dove:

Never again we hope to be

Kept apart by an angry sea.

A thousand welcomes, O darlings mine,
When we see you at Winterdyne.

“WELCOME TO WINTERDYNE!” 8

Welcome all to a warm new nest,

Just the place for our doves to rest,
Through the oaks and beeches looking down
On the winding valley and quaint old town,
Where ivy green on the red rock grows,
And silvery Severn swiftly flows,

With an extra sparkle and glitter and shine

Under the woods of Winterdyne.

On a quiet evening in lovely spring,

In the tall old elms the nightingales sing;
Under the forest in twilight grey
I have heard them more than a mile away,
Sweeter and louder and far more clear
Than any thrush you ever did hear;
Perhaps when the evenings grow long and fine

They will sing to you in Winterdyne.
Little to sadden, and nothing to fear;

Priest, and Fenian, never come here;
Only the sound of the Protestant bells
Up from the valley pleasantly swells,

And a beautiful arch, to church, is made
Under the sycamore avenue’s shade;
You pass where its arching boughs entwine,

Out of the gates of Winterdyne.°
Welcome to merry old England! And yet
We know that old Ireland you will not forget;
Many a thought and prayer will fly
Over the mountains of Wales, so high,

Over the forest and over the sea,
To the home which no longer yours must be.
But farewells are over, O darlings mine,

Now it is Welcome to Winterdyne!
G

Her own words will continue the record of her inner life in the year 1866.

Few things have a more salutary effect upon me than reading secular biographies. For, successful or unsuccessful alike, ‘vanity of vanities” seems the truest characteristic of every life not devoted to the very highest aim. “Queens of Society,” “Autobiography of Louis Spohr,” and others, have left this feeling strongly upon me, and have been auxiliary in making me wish that my life may be laid out for Him, whose it is by right. Oh, that He may make me a vessel sanctified and meet for the Master’s use! I look at trial and training of every kind in this light, not its effect upon oneself for oneself, but in its gradual fiting of me to do the Master’s work. So, in very painful spiritual darkness or conflict, it has already comforted me to think that God might be leading me through strange dark ways, so that I might afterward be His messenger to some of His children in similar distress. My ill health this summer has been very trying to me. I am held back from much I wanted to do in every way, and have had to lay poetizing aside. And yet such open doors seemed set before me.. Perhaps this check is sent that I may consecrate what I do more entirely. I have a curious vivid sense, not merely of my verse faculty in general being given me, but also of every separate poem or hymn, nay every line, being given. It is peculiarly pleasant thus to take it as a direct gift, not a matter of effort, but purely involuntarily..

I suppose that God’s crosses are often made of most unexpected and strange material. Perhaps trial must be felt keenly, or it’ would not be powerful enough as a medicine in the hands of our beloved Healer; and I think it has been a medicine to me latterly. You may wonder that I write thus, when I was so merry with you at L; but, among the best gifts of God to me, I count a certain stormy petrelism of nature, which seems to enable me to skim dny waves when I am not actually under them. I have an elasticity which often makes me wonder at myself, a power of throwing myself into any present interest or enjoyment, though the sorrow is only suspended not removed.

But once I seemed permitted to suffer mentally in an unmitigated sort of way, which I never knew before. Perhaps to teach me how to feel for others who have not that stormy petrelism which bears me through most things. For that forsook me utterly, and I felt crushed and forsaken of all or any help or cheer, to an extent I never felt before.

I wish I rejoiced more, not only on my own account, but if I may so say, on zs, for surely I should praise Him more by both lip and life. Mine has been such a shady Christian life, yet “‘ He led them forth by the right way” must somehow be true here, though I don’t see how. I ought to make‘one exception; I have learned a real sympathy with others walking in darkness, and sometimes it has seemed to help me to help them.

I send you this text, Matthew xxv. qo, and I want you to let it brighten all your work; but one can never ‘come to the end of the graciousness of it. Some months ago, I called on one of my dear old women in Worcester. She talked of the King; and, coming away, I felt impelled to give her something which I had not

s x v intended for her, and knew I could not afford without a trifling self-denial. She took it silently, paused, and then said, with a simple sweet solemnity, “Inasmuch!” Well, ever since I have revelled in that wonderful ‘ Inasmuch.” Only think of His really considering all our poor little services as done unto Him! And this is quite apart from what we consider success or results. It is not only spiritual ministrations, but all other little kindnesses. How one would. have liked to have been one of the women who ministered unto Him, but it is so marvellously gracious of Him to give you and me, to wit, opportunities of doing what He considers the same thing. +. You may think it strange, but I have long almost shrunk from going to the sacrament, dreading the being sent empty away. Oh, if He would but grant me my request just once — that I might “taste and see!” Communion Sundays are so often my saddest days; great tension of feeling, longing unsatisfied desire, and sorrowful pleading, followed by the reaction of miserable apathy. It is only one or two who know about my clouds, though many know what I de/ieve about sunshine.

- .«. Sunday is over. “Sent empty away.” Just empty, no other word seems to express it; not full of anything, I would rather even have been full of distress than thus empty. Not one sweet verse or comforting thought seemed given me. All the beautiful service seemed to pass through the ear and never reach my heart. Oh, if He would only show me “wherefore He contendeth with me.” It has brought me to the terrible old feeling, “how can I be one of His sheep if I never hear the Shepherd’s voice, if He never meets me where He meets others?”

Her nieces Evelyn and Constance went to
school in 1866-7; and, in consequence, Frances
then left Oakhampton, and always afterwards
resided at home.

(From F. R. H’s manuscript papers, May 1867.)

It seems as if the Lord had led me into a calmer and more equable frame of mind; not joy, but peace. And texts light up to me very pleasantly sometimes. Why should I not take for granted all I find in the Bible? why should I hesitate and tremble over it, as I have been doing for years? I have been appropriating all the promises with a calm sort of twilight happiness, waiting for a clearer light to show me their full beauty and value.

It does seem to me that “free grace” does not mean there is o/hing on our side. We may phrase it “coming,” ‘‘accepting,” “believing,” “touching the hem”; but there is something which these words represent, which is necessary to salvation; and then comes the question, have / this condition? Yet as soon as 7 in any form comes in, there is shadow upon the light. Still, this shadow need not fall when the eye is fixed upon Christ as the Substitute, the Lamb slain; then all is clear. But it is in reading, when one’s heart leaps at some precious promise made to the children of God, that a cold check comes, “am J one of them? what is my title?” Answer, “Ye are all the children of God by faith in Jesus Christ.” Have I faith? Once introduce that Z, and you get bewildered between faith and feeling,

When I go on and grapple with the difficulty, it comes to this. As far as I know, I have come to Jesus, not once but many times. I have knelt, and literally prostrated myself before Him, and told Him all, that I have no other hope but what His wrztten word says He did and said, that I know it is true, that the salvation it tells of is just what I want and all I want, and that my heart goes out to it, and that I do accept it; that I do not fully grasp it, but I cg to it; that I want to be His only and entirely, now and for ever.

(Zhe last entry.)

I have been so happy lately, and the words “Thou hast put gladness in my heart” I can use, as true of my own case; especially as to one point, I am sure now (and I never was before) that I do love God. I love Him distinctly, positively; and I think I have loved Him more and longer than I thought, only I dared not own it to myself. Oh that I loved Him more and more! How I abhor myself for having loved, for loving, so little.

In the autumn of 1867 she enjoyed a visit to the lakes with her former schoolfellow, J. H. E., and J. T., a charming poetess. Frances writes: “I had every possible variety of effects, from grey lake mists and rain to silver and gold, and rosy transparent purple and soft dreamy hazes, and marvellous clearness and veilings and unveilings, and everything that is lovely except snow.”

(-. R. Hf. to Miss Clara Gedge, September 1867.)

I thank you very specially for having asked

me to join the Young Women’s Christian Association. On my side it will be an extra strong link; because, whatever help and blessing for myself and others I may find through it, I shall not forget that I owe my membership to you. I have written the date of my joining in the cover of my Bible, as a continual reminder (if any could be needed) of such a privilege; and under it the names of all whom I know to be members, yours of course standing first. How little we know each other’s need! How often the text we want to send must be a bow drawn at a venture! Yet again, how alike are our needs, and how pleasant to know that we may ask Him, to whom each heart is open, to guide us.to choose the right gem from the precious mine of His word! Ido not feel inclined to send you anything out of the way to-day, dear Clara, but just one of the dear old rock-texts, which are always something to stand upon, and this one especially so for your birthday: “He hath said, I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.” For this embraces all our years; if true at all, it has been so all along, even when we felt far off. He was near when we felt alone; He was surely,

though hidden, beside us.

The date on the Y. W. C. A. card of membership is September 23, 1867; No. 2181. This Association proved a lifelong rivet; and manifold were her efforts, to link others in its helpful fellowship.

It is impossible to give even an idea of her efforts for many societies. Just at this time, she was wishful to give lessons in singing, for the Church Missionary Society; and her steady work in collecting for it never ceased. The Jews’, the Church Pastoral-Aid, and the Bible Society were alike valued. Skilfully did she induce others to take an interest in them; and in the February of her last winter (1879), one bitter night, she headed a number of Welsh neighbours and lads to go, for the first time in their lives, to a Bible Society meeting at the Mumbles.

We again give some extracts from her letters.

PEMERIDGE CRESCENT, /Vovember 1867.

. Among other pleasures in London, I have made acquaintance with the authoress of “Doing and Suffering.” She gave me a good deal of practical advice about my schemes for milliners’ classes. I want very much to give singing lessons for the Church Missionary Society, and German lessons for the Irish Society; this would be clear gain, and also give me opportunities for influence among the class which interest me so much.

4 I must tell you about the east window in Mr. Bickersteth’s church at Hampstead. Nothing in the window line ever made such an impression upon me. It is all filled in with simple arabesque and diaper work, inerely quiet harmonious colour, nothing to arrest the eye, except the centre light, and in that is a white scroll on a blue ground, with just the words in crimson and gold letters, “Till He come.” It sent quite a thrill through me. It is so exactly what one would like to look up to from the holy table.... I must send you “In whom we have the forgiveness of sins,” because I have just had a glimpse of the beauty and power of it, and I like best to send you what has been given me. Of course I lost it again; but, in praying for forgiveness, and sorrowfully enough, as usual, I remembered your quotation from Adelaide Newton, and hen this flashed upon me, “2” whom — we have,” and was so satisfactory. Perhaps you don’t feel the utter need of it that I do, but still I know it zs precious truth for every one.

GOoDSTONE, December 1867.

Guess my birthday treat? To the Zoological Gardens. I don’t know anything I would rather see in London. I am a perfect baby as to animals! I managed to get three more singing lessons, though I was never in voice, and had a bad cold. Signor Randegger says I have many mechanical difficulties to overcome, but gives me credit for “talent, taste, feeling, and brains.” I might improve “if under him for a year, and he consoled me by saying “I might always calculate on expressive singing.” His first lesson was a lecture on the formation of the throat and production of sound, which he told me to write out as an abstract. I was very poorly in bed the next day; so, having nothing to do, it occurred to me to rhyme it. Afterwards I was afraid lest he might be touchy and think I was making game of it. However it was quite the other way, and. he asked for a copy to show his

pupils.

MY SINGING LESSON. (4éstract.)

Here beginneth, — Chapter the first of a series, To be followed by manifold notes and queries; So novel the queries, so trying the notes,

I think I must have the queerest of throats,
And most notable dulness, or else long ago
The Signor had given up teaching, I trow.

I wonder if ever before he has taught

A pupil who can’t do a thing as she ought!

The voice has machinery (now to be serious), Invisible, delicate, strange, and mysterious.

A wonderful organ-pipe firstly we trace,

Which is small in a tenor and wide in a bass:

Below an A¢olian harp is provided,

Through whose fairy-like fibres the air will be guided. Above is an orifice, larger or small,

As the singer desires to rise or to fall;

Expand and depress it, to deepen your roar,

But raise and contract it, when high you would soar, Alas for the player, the pipes, and the keys,

If the bellows give out an inadequate breeze!

So this is the method of getting up steam,

The one motive power for song or for scream.
Slowly and deeply, and just like a sigh,

Fill the whole chest with a mighty supply;

Through the mouth only, and not through the nose; And the lungs must condense it ere farther it goes. (How to condense it I really don’t know,

And very much hope the next lesson will show.) Then, forced from each side, through the larynx it comes, And reaches the region of molars and gums,

THE NEW HOME. co

And half of the sound will be ruined or lost

If by any impediment here it is crossed.

On the soft of the palate beware lest it strike,

The effect would be such as your ear would not like. And arch not the tongue, or the terrified note

Will straightway be driven back into the throat. Look well to your trigger, nor hasten to pull it, Once hear the report and you’ve done with your bullet. In the feminine voice there are registers three, Which upper, and middle, and lower must be;

And each has a sounding-board all of its own,

The chest, lips, and head, to reverberate tone.

But in cavities nasal it never must ring,

Or no one is likely to wish you to sing.

And if on this subject you waver in doubt,

By listening and feeling the truth will come out. The lips, by-the-bye, will have plenty to do

In forming the vowels Italian and true;

Eschewing the English, uncertain and hideous, With an o and a that are simply amphibious.

In flexible freedom let both work together,

And the under one must not be stiffened like leather.

Here endeth the substance of what I remember, Indited this twenty-sixth day of November.

The following extracts will illustrate my dear sister’s life at this time.

PyRMONT VILLA, LEAMINGTON, December 27, 1867.: My first note in my new room in our new home must be to you. It is solemn to think of what I may go through in this room: probably many happy hours, certainly many sorrowful ones. In all human probability it will be my room until the great sorrow falls which has already often seemed imminent, unless I die before my precious father. I have just been praying words from my own mamma’s lips, when I was a little girl, “Prepare me for all that Thou art preparing for me.” Yet, spite of these thoughts, I have not been at all in a good frame of mind; oh, how often hidden evil is brought to light by some unexpected Ithuriel touch. Every one calls me sweet tempered; but oh, I have been so ruffled two or three times, that I wonder and grieve at myself. I always suffer for being naughty; I lose all enjoyment in prayer directly. “Oh, for a heart that never sins!”

January 18th, 1868, after describing her room:

Can you fancy me there? The only drawback is that, being at the top of the house, it will not be available for classes. I do wish all good carpets and furniture were at the bottom of the sea! They are among the devices to hinder usefulness. I have done nothing about a class yet, and do hope I shall not be wilful in choosing for myself!... Imever saw such a place as Leamington, every hole and corner seems dusted out! Such a number of earnest loving workers; some are wonderful, I am not worthy to sit at their feet.

(Zo £. C.)

LEAMINGTON, February 22, 1868. “Grace unto you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.” I send for your birthday the result of a year’s daily and loving thought for you [a “HIDDEN LEAVES,’ 93

Bible marked]. It is the worse for wear, having been with me in boxes, bags, and pockets. I have marked what struck me as containing food, light, and teaching of some sort. I do hope you will find my markings a help and pleasure, because not one chapter has been read without prayer for the Holy Spirit’s teaching. ‘ Can you not take Psalm xxiii. 6 as a birthday text? only, the goodness and mercy ave following ail the days, even when their bright outline is lost in the shadow of closely pressing trials, and sometimes in our own shadow.

I am getting on with my book, and might finish it in a week or two by putting on steam; but I am resolutely not hurryingit....

February, 1868,

.. I havenothad a single poem come to me for some time, till last night, when one shot into my mind, All my best have come in that way, Minerva fashion, full grown. It is so curious, one minute I have not an idea of writing anything, the next I Aave a poem; it is mine, 1 see it all, except laying out rhymes and metre, which is then easy work! I rarely write anything which has not come thus. ‘“Hidden Leaves” is the title; I wonder how you would work it out after this beginning:

‘Oh the hidden leaves of life,
Closely folded in the breast!”

The illness and death of her niece, Evelyn Emily Crane, was deeply felt. We may not give full details; but it was her Aunt Frances who had led her to Christ some three years before, and her dying message confirmed the reality of her joyful trust in the Lord Jesus.

‘ April 14, 1868.
Dearest MARIA, — ]

That is indeed a precious message. The tension of this last week has been terrible. I think it so excessively kind of-you to tell me all you do. I hunger for it; you will understand how. My Evelyn’s ring!* ‘This is kind! I shall always wear it. Once she wanted to wear mine. I have had most beautiful and comforting notes from J. H. E. and many others. The Hebrew word J. H.S. sent me pleased me much. I have had such sympathy from my new friends here. Oh, Marie dear, it zs answer to prayer indeed. Don’t think me selfish in letting out a little to you, or that I do not intensely feel for them because I feel so much myself. I wrote some verses Saturday evening (which I intended no one to see), “Dying? Evelyn, darling! Dying? can it be?” t but will send them you; and, if you think they would be more pleasure than pain, show them poor. The memorial card made me realize it at last. Last night I sat long with it before me, with such an utter flood of love for that child in my heart. It rose and rose, and the sorrow and sense of loss with it, and how I last saw her, in all her graceful beauty. Then, at last, came a sudden glimpse, almost a vision, of seeing her again and having such a full and loving welcome from her above!...

Your loving sister.

* See ‘The Two Rings,” in ‘‘ Under the Surface,” page 221. + See ‘Under His Shadow,” page 167, “MARVELLOUS LOVINGKINDNESS.” 95

Leamincton, JZay 1868.

- «. Iam not ill, but overdone and tired. <A nice letter even to you is an impossibility. This has been trial, but as yet I see no “nevertheless afterwards.” I have been falling back on “O Lord, Thou knowest.” -.. TI onlysend you two words; but they are, and will be seen to be, the true “theme” or “subject,” speaking musically, carried through all the majors and minors of life: ‘MARVELLOUS LOVINGKINDNESS.”...

(Zo E. C.)
LEAMINGTON, February.

Another birthday! so I send you another note of birthday love; “Surely my judgment is with the Lord, and my work with my God.” That word ‘“‘ work” seems to include and imply “zeward of work,” so the whole thing is with your God; it is as if you carry home your daily portion of work to Him, and He lays it up safe with what preceded it; and some day He will bring it out all in one beautiful completed piece, with many finishings and beautifyings beyond what your hand wrought; and His “Well done!” will be your reward, whether it be delayed till He adds “Enter thou” or not. At last I have had my longed for “pause in life,” but as yet I am not well enough to enjoy it. Maria will tell you how wretchedly ill I have been....

May 8th.

I only heard of your accident last night. My dear old text flashed upon me the instant I heard of it, “Meet for the Master’s use”; surely it is for that He has taken His vessel away from active use, that it may be made more meet. I feel so disposed to look out for much marked. blessing upon you and your work when He permits you to resume it. Let me give you another, “‘He will be very gracious unto thee at the voice of thy cry.” That has comforted me often, more than any promise of answer; it includes answers and a great deal more besides; it tells us what He 1s towards us, and that is more than what He will do. And the “cry” is not long, connected, thoughtful prayers; a cry is just an wnworded dart upwards of the heart, and at ¢hat “voice” He will be very gracious. What a smile there is in these words!

In ‘May 1869 our brother-in-law, Mr. Crane, took Frances, with his wife and eldest daughter Miriam, to Switzerland, by the Rhine route to Heidelberg, Freiburg, Basle and Schaffhausen. Her neatly kept journal has photographs of the several places visited, and the Alpine flowers she dried for its pages.

THE RHINE FALts, /une oth.

It was fascinating to look down at the wild rapids, sheets of glass-like transparency, flowing swiftly over rock tables, then a sudden precipice below water, which might go down to any depth, only that you are not looking down into darkness, but into emerald and snow mingled and transfused marvellously.. The rocks beneath are not a smooth ledge; thus the water is thrown out into a chaos of magnificent curves and leaps, infinitely more beautiful than any single chute could be. You look up, and see masses of bright water hurled everlastingly irresistibly down, down, down with a sort of exuberance of the joy of utter strength; you look across, and see shattered diamonds by millions leaping and glittering in the sunshine; you look down, and it is a tremendous wrestling and overcoming of flood upon flood, all the more weirdly grand that it is half hidden in the clouds of spray. Every drop is so full of light that the eye is soon dazzled and weary: oh if one were only all spirit! The next day it was great luxury to sit on the terrace overlooking the falls. I jotted some verses (“He hath spoken in the darkness”),* which have been haunting me for two or three days. The text was sent me lately, ‘“‘ What I tell you in darkness that speak ye in light.” I never noticed it before; how strange it is what treasures we miss every time we read His word!

BERNE, June 12th.

At last! Miriam crept quietly to the window about 5 a.m., and I woke as she passed. ‘Anything to see?” “Oh yes, I really do believe I see them!” Of course I was up in a second. The sun had risen above the thick mist, and away in the south east were the weird giant outlines of the Bernese Oberland mountains bending towards the sun, as if they had been our mighty guardian spirits all night, and were resigning their charge ere they flew away into farther light. The very mist was a folding of wings about their feet, and a veiling of what might be angel brows, quiet and serene. It is no use laughing at “fancies”; wait till you have seen what we did from the roof of the Berner Hof!

So now the dream of all my life is realized, and I

* See ‘* Under the Surface,’’ page 161. -H have seen snow mountains! When I was quite a little child of eight years old I used to reverie about them, and when I heard the name of the snow-covered Sierra de la Summa Paz (perfect peace) the idea was completed; and I thenceforth always thought of eternal snow and perfect peace together, and longed to see the one and drink in the other. And Iam not disappointed. They are just as pure, and bright,-and peace-suggestive as ever I dreamt them. It may be rather in the style of the old women who invariably say “It’s just like heaven,” when they get a tolerably comfortable tea-meeting; but really I never saw anything material and earthly which so suggested the ethereal and heavenly, which so seemed to lead up to the unseen, to be the very steps of the Throne; and one could better fancy them to be the visible foundations of the invisible celestial city, bearing some wonderful relation to its transparent gold and crystal sea, than only snow and granite, rising out of this same every-day earth we are treading, dusty andstony!...

In the autumn of this year Frances went to Scotland, and extremely enjoyed the Highland scenery; at the same time visiting various friends,