Even the Apostles must have found it hard to work together. We know they did. Look at Peter and Paul. Yet the spirit of unity was stronger than all that opposed Him, and the One Body was in some measure realised. What was difficult in the childhood of the Body is still more difficult in its manhood. And Englishmen, with their strong sense of individuality, find it a terrible lesson to learn.

But pray. You enter then into another man's 'ego.' You see him in God. You see him as an end in himself. Remember Kant's maxim—a wonderful maxim from one who would not, I suppose, be {177} technically called a Christian—'Treat humanity, whether in thyself or in another, always as an end, not simply as a means.' Put aside a certain amount of time, and pray for one man. If your thoughts wander, do not be disturbed, do not try to find when they began or how they began to wander; do not despair, go back to the subject in hand. And God will have mercy. Your influence, your life, your all, depends on prayer.

We must faint sometimes. But let your saddest times, your deepest struggles be known to God. Gain there the strength and quietness which you need for life. But don't let men see the agony—let them see the peace which comes from wrestling alone with God—wrestling for them.

You are not one man, but two or three. Thank God for that. It means that you will have a hard life—an awful struggle with self or selves: but it also means more influence, more power to enter into man's life. So many of the finest men owe their attractiveness to their diverse, many-sided nature. You will be able to feel for such, and perhaps to help them. You are half a Greek with your yearning for beauty and knowledge, half a Hebrew with your loathing for sin and love of God. The Greek in you must not be annihilated, but it must be subordinated to the Hebrew. Conscience must be absolute master. You must sacrifice the 'Greek' to Christ; but He will give you back what is best in the Greek ideal, all the better for the mark of the Cross on it. He will give it you back partly in this world, partly in the next, when you have learnt to renounce it—if need {178} were, for ever—for His sake. But you must give up all for Him without thought of reward. He can give no reward to the man who is looking for it. The thought of your life helps me. Go on, for the night cometh when no man can work. Thank God it is yet day.



To his brother Edward in South Africa.

Muehlen, Switzerland: January 11, 1903.

I found walking a pleasant change after reading philosophy, which I have been doing during my holidays. I seem to have been getting my ideas a little clearer, and am no longer as content as I was with the Kantian doctrine, that our knowledge in speculative matters never gets beyond 'appearances.' I feel that at every turn we do get to that which is—to an underlying reality. I cannot feel that Kant's hard and fast division between 'speculative' and 'moral' reason holds good. The external world, because it is intelligible, must be akin to us; there must be an intelligence in it, otherwise it would never become an object of knowledge to our intelligence. It is not only in our ethical life that we come across the absolute consciousness. I feel now more than ever how we cannot divide up ourselves into water-tight compartments, and think of reason, will, and feeling as separate things, lying side by side. They can be separated—abstracted—in thought, but in actual life you never find one without the other. We cannot think without some degree of attention, and attention involves an exercise of will, and will cannot {179} be exercised without desire, and desire involves feeling.

I think faith also cannot be regarded as a separate faculty. Reason, will, and feeling are all involved even in the faith of a poor cottager; much more does reason enter into the faith of a thoughtful man.

I have been reading Butler, and hope when I go back to study Hume. What a wealth of light the conception of 'Development' has shed upon the problems which exercised the eighteenth century! I have read half through Leslie Stephen's 'Thought in the Eighteenth Century,' and I have been struck again and again at the new aspect that the old questions take when looked at from the standpoint of Evolution.

I feel also that we need to study more the evolution of thought—the necessary phases that reason (like man's physical life) must pass through before perfection. . . .

I think you are right, that education must now include instruction in imperial ideas—in our relations with that larger social life which is dawning upon us—a step towards a still larger social life to be realised in the brotherhood of nations.



To F. J. C.

Christ's College, Cambridge: February 1, 1903.

I am slow to suggest to another man that what seems bad luck is in reality the voice of God making itself felt in his busy life, calling him to fuller sacrifice. But I am sure that we are right when we interpret it {180} thus for ourselves. I share your wish for 'some really strong man' to come as a prophet and read the writing on the wall, and tell us 'what it all means.' Yet the absence of human help is not accidental. It must be designed, in order that we may learn to fall back on the everlasting arms—to find by experience that the unseen is more real than the seen.

There is an arm that never tires When human strength gives way.

I like that phrase, 'worthy to suffer.' It is to those whom God loves best and most that He gives—as He gave to His Son—the chance of suffering. Sympathy, strength, reality—these are some of its fruits for those who allow them to grow. 'He cannot be My disciple.' I can't help sometimes thinking of these words. Unless the man is prepared to make sacrifice the basis of his life, he cannot be Christ's disciple. I don't think we always realise the 'trans-valuation of values' found in Christ's teaching. 'Blessed are the poor—the hungry. He that would save his life shall lose it. He that loseth, saveth. He that would be greatest shall be least. It is more blessed to give than to receive.' As I think over such statements as these, I find that I have again and again to revise, as it were, my moral arithmetic—to change my standards, to revise my ideas of great and little, happiness and misery, importance and insignificance.

I am sure that nothing but the highest will satisfy you. God has given you singular powers of influence and of attracting others. He will demand an account {181} of those powers. You know Matthew Arnold's lines on his father. I believe the day will come when men will say like words of you.

But thou would'st not alone Be saved, my father! alone Conquer and come to thy goal, Leaving the rest in the wild. . . . Therefore to thee it was given Many to save with thyself.

That is what I want you to be—a tower of strength—strength perfected, it may be, in weakness—weakness forcing you to despair of self, and find the Rock of Ages. You have been so much to me, and helped me so often, that I feel you must be born to help others as well. And this quiet time, it may be that God is using it to call you closer to Himself, to teach you to revise your 'values,' to show you a new fund of strength.

Our wills are ours, we know not how, Our wills are ours, to make them Thine.

You must—literally must—let His will overpower your will. Nothing but complete sacrifice will satisfy you or Him, and I believe in you profoundly. I am sure that, whatever be the ghastly struggle, you will go through with it, and find your strength in Him. I pray for you.



To his mother.

Cambridge; March 15, 1903.

The term is almost over . . . I am enjoying a quiet Sunday. What a blessing these Sundays are {182} to us—a foretaste of a fuller life of service and worship hereafter! I have been thinking lately with comfort of the quiet perpetual work of the Holy Spirit, silently but surely leading us on to higher things—comforting, correcting, guiding. It gives ground for hope in dealing with men, this knowledge that there is One who perfects what we feebly struggle to begin, who watches over men with a love that will not let them go. We are not alone in our work; we have omnipotence and illimitable wisdom on our side, forwarding our efforts. When I consider what the Spirit has accomplished in my own life, I have large hope for others. The argument from personal experience is singularly convincing. 'The fellowship of the Holy Ghost'—it is He who unites men and interprets them one to the other. It is He who gives spirit and life to our words.



To H. J. B.

Bexley House, Cromer: March 31, 1903.

It was good of you to send me that card from Florence. You don't know how glad it made me. To know that you were thinking of me was a strength to me. Your love for me comes as a perpetual surprise and inspiration. I feel a brute compared with you, but the knowledge that you care for me more than you do for most men makes me feel that I must try to be good. 'In Italy of the fifteenth century renaissance we see in strange confusion all that we love in art, and all that we loathe in man!' Greek history was short compared {183} with the Hebrew: I suppose because intellectual and artistic ideals are more easily realised than ethical and religious. It takes time to make a saint. It is part of the discipline of life to find the two sets of ideas apparently antagonistic. There is a higher unity in which they are blended—in God Himself. It must be right to follow the dictates of conscience when it bids us lose our soul if we would gain it. We cannot trust God too much. If we forget our self, He will see that our truest self is ultimately realised.

I can't express myself well, for I have just finished a spell of hard work. I have sent away my tripos papers to-night. I am going up to Edinburgh on Friday or Saturday. I fear I shall not see you until April 21. Will you tell Armitage that I will, if convenient to him, sleep at Westminster that night instead of going straight to Cambridge? The hopelessness of ever showing my gratitude to you or of ever making you realise how much I love you oppresses me. I don't know what I should do if I had not One Higher than I am to confide in—if I could not leave you in His hands—if I could not gain strength and life for you by appealing to Him.

O brother, if my faith is vain, If hopes like these betray, Pray for me, that I too may gain The sure and safer way.

And Thou, O God, by whom are seen Thy creatures as they be, Forgive me if too close I lean My human heart on Thee!

{184} I lean closer and closer as life goes on. I feel that our hope lies in despair—despair of self. The vessels which contain the treasure are, as to-night's lesson says, earthen, 'that the excess of the power may be God's and not from us.' And there is a power, there is a life working in us. It is the quiet, sane, constant work of the Spirit in and upon our spirit, that never hastes and never tires: which gives me comfort for you, for myself, for all of us. The same life that is at work in the hedge across the road is in us, only in us it attains full self-consciousness and freedom. We can deliberately use it or refuse it. Forgive the length of the letter. But I felt so tired that I thought it would do me good to write to you, selfish brute that I am.

I expect you enjoyed your time in Italy immensely. I should have liked to be with you. I wonder if ever we shall be there together? Some day we shall be in a world where the barriers of space are broken down: 'There shall be no more sea.' Yet it seems to me that we have not altogether to wait for that other world. They are half broken down already; and if we had faith as a grain of mustard seed, we should realise the meaning of a unity deeper than any special or temporal bond. If we fail to realise its meaning now, shall we realise it then? Is not life here a training for life hereafter? If we learn nothing in this school, we shall not be able to take our places in that school of 'broader love.' The best part in me does not complain. I thank God for His thoughtful goodness in bringing you near to me. I thank Him for the mystery of life, which enables me to realise that {185} Power 'which lives not in the light alone, But in the darkness and the light.' I become more and more inclined to thank Him as I see Him more clearly.



To F. S. H. on his accepting the post of chaplain at the Royal Naval College, Osborne.

Cambridge: April 30, 1903.

I am satisfied with your decision. I thought over the matter, but I could not see my way quite clearly to say anything more definite, so I did not write again. Don't think that my silence was due to slackness. I did what I thought was better than writing. I spent an hour in praying over the matter. Now that the matter is settled I can tell you what a keen pleasure it is to me to have my dear old —— near me in England,[1] and doing a piece of work which is full of hope and joy. I would not say this before, because I did not wish to influence your decision by private considerations. Get some quiet time for prayer before September 1, that when you go to Osborne you may go en pleromati eulogias Christou ('filled full with the blessing of Christ'). I feel increasingly the need of such times to learn to walk by faith without stumbling, and to accustom myself to the atmosphere of faith, to see things as they appear to a man who has faith 'as a grain of mustard seed.'

[Transcriber's note: The Greek phrases in the above paragraph were transliterated as follows: en—epsilon, nu; pleromati—pi, lambda, eta, rho, omega, mu, alpha, tau, iota; eulogias—epsilon, upsilon, lambda, omicron, gamma, iota, alpha, final sigma; Christou—Chi, rho, iota, sigma, tau, omicron, upsilon]

Westcott records a visit (see 'Life,' i. 249) to his old schoolmaster, Bishop Prince Lee. '"People quote various words of the Lord," said the Bishop, "as containing the sum of the Gospel—the Lord's Prayer, {186} the Sermon on the Mount, and the like; to me the essence of the Gospel is in simpler and shorter terms: me phobou, monon pisteue.[2] Ah! Westcott, mark that monon," and his eyes were filled with tears as he spoke.' Ah! S——, mark that monon! . . . God bless you in your new work and make you a blessing to others as you have been to me.

[1] He had been offered work in South Africa.

[2] 'Be not afraid, only believe.'

[Transcriber's note: The Greek phrases in the above paragraph were transliterated as follows: me—mu, eta; phobou—phi, omicron, beta, omicron, upsilon; monon—mu, omicron, nu, omicron, nu; pisteue—pi, iota, sigma, tau, epsilon, upsilon, epsilon]



To J. K.

St. Thomas's Home, St. Thomas's Hospital: August 28, 1903.

. . . I am most grateful for your kind words, though I know full well how little it is that I have done for you. We clergymen so often seem to be working in the dark. There are no clear results to show, as e.g. a doctor can comfort himself with, when he has visibly cured a patient. And I for one am too easily inclined to despair, and to wonder whether the work is not in vain. But 'trust is truer than our fears.' Yet it does me good when I feel I have done anything, however tiny, for a man. After all, results are best left in God's hand. He gives us enough to help us the next step onward, but not enough to exalt us, and to make us think we can do anything without His assistance. Work 'in the Lord' cannot be in vain.

I am glad you have been reading Bishop Westcott's life. He was a man of God, and his life is an inspiration, and a prophecy of what our life may—nay, some day—will be. . . . I like that passage {187} when he goes to see his old schoolmaster, Bishop Prince Lee, who tells him with tears in his eyes that to his mind the whole Gospel message is summed up in the words 'me phobou, monon pisteue.'

[Transcriber's note: see the previous letter for transliteration notes on the above Greek phrase.]



To a friend who had been an international athlete.

St. Thomas's Home: September 5, 1903.

We had a fairly good 'Long' in spite of the miserable weather. Congratulate me. I won my first athletic distinction last 'Long'—a ten-shilling prize. I am thinking of chucking work and becoming a professional. It was a second prize in a tennis tournament. I had (I must own) the best player in College as my partner. I want to get a very conspicuous object as prize. What do you suggest?



To C. T. W.

St. Thomas's Hospital: September 1903.

I am getting on first-rate, and I hope to be up early next week. I believe you are right. We should do well if we had more regularity and self-discipline in our life at Cambridge, and we should have more power over others. Pray for me. . . .

You needn't pity me. I am having a very good time. It is jolly to do nothing, and not even to have to dress and undress—both exhausting and monotonous occupations. It has been a glorious day, and although it is almost 7 P.M., I am still out on the balcony enjoying the cool breezes.



{188}

To W. O.

Alassio; December 1903.

Death has come near to my family lately. I told you that my sister—the Deaconess—had passed away from us.[1] It is not all sorrow, when we know that the life has been spent in walking with God, when we know that this corruptible puts on incorruption, and that what is sown in intense bodily weakness is raised in strength—eternal strength.

I am so glad that God has given to you His highest blessing. I long to meet your future wife. It makes me very happy to think of the happiness in store for you—to know that you are in the best of all schools. I thank God. Love will bring you both nearer to the source of Love. . . . This new blessing, as you say, is 'the gathering up of the best that God gives.' I can't express my thoughts as I would, but I am very, very glad. . . .

Illness teaches one many lessons. I trust I have learned some. I have been amazed at the goodness of my friends!

[1] His sister, Deaconess Cecilia, 'passed away' at the Deanery, Westminster, on September 8.



To W. P., an officer in the Army.

Hotel Salisbury, Alassio, Italy: December 21, 1903.

I don't think things happen by chance. Indeed I am sure they do not. I have never felt so humbled to the earth. One sees one's life as a whole, when one is helpless and can do nothing, and the whole looks very poor and mean. It is like the {189} judgment-day—only with this grand exception, that life is not yet over, that the night has not yet come in which 'no man can work,' that you have still a chance to make the future better, more honest, more noble than the past. Then, again, I learnt the utter and wonderful kindness of my friends. I felt so selfish and so surprised at the goodness they showed me. Again, I saw something of the mystery of pain. My own was so trivial compared with that which some others had to bear. Yet I had enough to startle me that such a fact should be permitted on earth at all. I don't suppose we can understand its meaning; but my consolation was that it is not necessarily a sign of God's displeasure—that the highest life was a life of suffering, that the Son of Man was a 'Man of Sorrows.' Everything seems to me to depend upon the way in which one takes the pain—if one voluntarily says, 'Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done,' then one is entering into the highest life, and the pain becomes a new method of serving and knowing God. But physical pain, if prolonged, is a terrible thing; and there is no time on a bed of sickness for praying or thinking much of God unless one is accustomed to do so in health. The needs of the poor body press in upon one. Death-bed repentances are realities, but I am inclined to think that they are very rare. It is terribly dangerous to defer being good until we are ill. Illness does not necessarily make us good.

I am afraid I was but a poor coward, and yet my faith did not utterly fail. God is the one hope for a man who is ill, and He is true to His word. He {190} hides His face behind the clouds; but even when I couldn't see Him at all, I felt that He was there. Pray for me; at present I feel too weak to pray much for myself. I want—I do want—to be a better man, to help others nearer the kingdom. I want, when life is over, to have a better record to look back upon than I had in hospital.



To F. S. H.

Alassio, Italy; January 2, 1904.

Your letter came to me at a time when I was rather low. I had to have a second operation. However, after fifteen weeks of Nursing Homes I escaped, and, as soon as I could, made my way to St. Moritz. For once the place didn't seem to suit me very well. So, after little more than a week, I came down into Italy. I am so far recovered now that I quite hope to be able to go back to college at the beginning of this term.

Illness and pain have taught me some lessons—at least I hope so. I feel solemnised, startled, when I think of how life looked when I could do nothing for the time. Pray for me that I may be more real. I learnt, too, how futile it is to put off repentance till sickness. It is hard at such a time to think of aught save self and physical pain. And my own pain was so trivial compared with that of others. O God! it is a terrible thing. Some day shall we be able to understand, if not with the head, with the heart, part of its meaning? Meanwhile the individual can say, however feebly, 'Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done.'

{191}

To his brother, a doctor in South Africa.

Alassio, Italy: January 7, 1904.

At last I am beginning to get tired of doing nothing. I hope that eventually I shall be stronger than I have been for some years past. At any rate I hope a little first-hand experience of pain will make me more sympathetic. Pain seems to me now a greater mystery than ever before. But I comforted myself with the thought that in the highest Life ever seen on earth, there was a full measure of spiritual, mental, and physical pain. Also it was a comfort to feel that when one accepted, not simply with resignation but with faith, certain suffering, one was in sympathy with the will of the universe, 'working together with God' in some mysterious way. What a strange place a hospital is! How wonderful the Gospels are, with their hope and comfort on every page—hope for the physical as well as the mental side of man's life! I like more than ever now to read how Jesus went about healing all manner of diseases and all manner of sickness and bringing life and strength wherever He came, showing us that Heaven is on our side in our wrestle with all that deforms and degrades human nature.

I certainly don't regret my illness. Besides showing me the marvellous kindness of friends, it has, I hope, taught me much.



{193}

APPENDIX

The following letter addressed to the Editor of this volume was received from the Rev. H. Bisseker, chaplain at the Leys School, Cambridge, too late for insertion in an earlier portion of the book:

'Your brother's friendship, as you must have heard so often during the past few months, was valued in Cambridge beyond that of most men, and I am probably only one of many who still look to that friendship as among the prominent facts of their time up here. Though personally I did not learn to know Mr. Robinson when I first came up, his brotherliness so deeply impressed me during the four years for which our friendship lasted, that I still find it difficult to believe that he is no longer to be found in the familiar rooms at Christ's, and has ceased to be a part of our Cambridge life. And yet, in another sense, he has not ceased to be a part of that life; for one feels that during his residence up here he managed, if one may so express it, to put a bit of himself into more than one man, and that in this way he will continue to live among us long after he himself has been removed.

{194} 'I have often thought about him and his quiet, strong influence since we heard that we had lost him, and almost invariably the same three of his characteristics assume the uppermost place in my thought. Different sides of his nature would appeal to different men: I can best serve your purpose by mentioning those which made the deepest impression on my own mind.

'One of the chief causes of your brother's influence was unquestionably his sense of the value of the individual. He used to take men one by one and make a separate study of each. The consequence was that he knew his men. On any given visit the acquaintance did not, as it were, have to be begun over again. On the contrary, the acquaintance once formed, some common ground already existed; for so great was your brother's power of sympathy that, where at the first no such common ground appeared to exist, he soon learnt to find a standing-place himself on that assumed by the man he was seeking to know. And not only did Mr. Robinson possess this power of valuing the individual, but he also was able to inspire the objects of his influence with the knowledge of his particular interest in them. Thus they soon dropped the idea of acquaintanceship, and began to think of him as friend, and there you have in a word the secret of his wide influence. He was interested in men, but what he loved was a man.

'Mr. Robinson was no less marked off from the majority of men by the stress which he laid upon the reality and power of prayer. We used from time to time to have long talks together on this subject, so {195} that I can speak with some little knowledge of the place which he assigned it in his life. With characteristic modesty he not infrequently distrusted himself in his active contact with men. His very anxiety to help others towards the ideals by which his own life was dominated led him to see the risk of placing hindrances in their way by an injudicious intrusion into the secret places of their hearts. Drawn in different directions, therefore, by his passionate desire to win men for Christ and his cautious fear lest untimely words of his should hinder rather than help, he found refuge in giving himself up to earnest prayer on their behalf. And prayer to him meant more than a light repetition of words. He used often, I believe, to spend as long as half an hour at a time in seeking blessing for a single man. We cannot doubt that, in the strong influence which he himself exerted upon so many of those who knew him, such persistent prayer received at least a part of its own answer.

'The last element in your brother's individuality which always impressed me was his restrained, but genuine, mysticism. In the few accounts of his life that I have read I do not remember any allusion to this characteristic. That he possessed it, however, and this to no usual degree, seems to my mind quite patent; in fact, it was this suggestion of mysticism that first attracted me to him. The mysticism one sees around one is often so unregulated and so ignorant that it was refreshing to find a mystic who was also an enlightened scholar and thinker. It confirmed the feeling, instinctive in one's heart, that, despite the abuse of caricature, a deep, intelligent {196} apprehension of unseen realities is of the essence of the fulness of religion. Mr. Forbes Robinson appeared to possess an unusually certain cognisance of the unseen world. How well I remember the way in which, again and again, tea over and our pipes lighted, he would curl himself up in one of his or my own big chairs and discuss questions of interest to us both with a far-away look in his eyes altogether suggestive of a genuine otherworldliness! And this familiarity with unseen verities seemed to run through all those parts of his life with which I was acquainted, and indeed to be to him the most real fact of all existence. To use the simple language of olden days, I believe that "he walked with God": and that explains his life.

'These, then, were the three characteristics of your brother which more than any others have impressed themselves upon my mind. I do not think that they were three separate sides of his personality: I should say, rather, that they were three different expressions of one fundamental attribute. It was because he walked so closely with God that he so loved the individual sons of God. It was because he so loved the Great Father and each child of His that he had so strong a faith in the power of prayer and such unwearying patience to persist in it.

'A life like your brother's, if I may say one thing more, forms, I sometimes think, one of the strongest pledges of human immortality. In one sense, it is true, he seems to have done so much; and yet, in another sense, those of us who knew the faculties which he had cultivated, his knowledge and patient {197} scholarship, his sympathy and insight, his tact and passion for men, and, most precious of all, his power with God, were looking for even greater things in years to come. Such fitness for influence as he possessed is not acquired in a day, and just when its worth was being proved he was taken from us. Surely these gifts and graces are not now as if they had never been, or as if, once granted, they had been idly wasted! Can that earnest, patient cultivation really have been gratuitous, and the unselfish instinct that inspired it mistaken? Were it so, the whole universe looks out of joint. The more I consider such lives as that of your brother—lives, I mean, which, bearing promise of so rich a harvest, are yet cut off before the full harvest can possibly have been realised—the more my conviction grows that the passing of such men as he is not death, but only "the birth which we call death."'



{199}

INDEX

Anthropomorphism in the O.T., 135 Average man, the, 43

Beauty, natural, 153, 156 sq. Beauty, origin of personal, 78-81 Boers, religion of the, 110 sq. Boer war, the, 162 sq.

Christmas, meaning of, 153 Christ's College Magazine, extract from, 10 Clough, quotation from, 164 Communion of saints, 69 Continuity of work, 106 sq. Cornwall, open-air preaching in, 25 Criticism of O.T., 54, 136 sq.

Daily service, repetition of, 59

Eternity, life in the light of, 164

Faith, function of, 120 Fitzpatrick, Rev. T. C., sketch by, 36-42 Friendship, permanent character of, 84 Friendship, the, of Christ, 89 sq. Future life, the, 69, 117 sq., 125, 149, 150 sq.

Gordon, General, in S. Africa, 116 sq.

Hebrew and Greek ideals, 166 sq., 183 Holy Spirit, work of the, 182, 184 Home life, significance of, 60, 77 sq., 84, 110, 118, 159 Humour, sense of, 47 sq.

Incarnation, results of his belief in, 45 Influence upon others, 75

James, Dr., sketch by, 7 sqq.

Kant, philosophy of, 176, 178 Kittermaster, Rev. D. B., sketch by, 42-53 Kruger, interview with, 112

Law as revealed to the Jews, 63 sqq. Letter-writer, St. Paul a, 82 Letters— H. J. B., 151, 164, 166, 182 W. A. B., 60, 74, 77, 86, 113 F. J. C., 129, 131, 134, 153, 179 G. J. C., 122, 123, 158 J. L. D., 91, 93, 95, 109 G. F., 104 A. W. G., 69 F. S. H., 102, 103, 105, 106, 119, 132, 136, 139, 185, 187, 190 J. C. H., 117 W. D. H., 127, 162 D. B. K., 148, 159, 172, 174 J. K., 108, 186 E. N. L., 58, 68 T. H. M., 55, 56, 57, 76, 100 W. O., 143, 188 H. P., 145, 171 W. P., 188 A. V. R., 54 D. D. R., 63, 88, 98 C. N. W., 120 C. T. W., 107, 111, 126, 127, 187 Anonymous, 114, 125, 146, 149, 162 To a friend at Cambridge, 154, 167 To his brother Edward in S. Africa, 137, 156, 171, 178 To his brother, a doctor in S. Africa, 128, 135, 191 To his mother, 116, 181 To the mother of his godchild, M. F., 110, 118, 165 Life, zoe as used in St. John, 55 Life, the Divine, manifested, 101 sq. Love, his, for his friends, 45 sq., 50, 154, 182 Love, meaning and scope of, 73, 76, 113 sq., 124, 142 Love, the action of the Divine, 142

Motto, family, 1.

National life, significance of, 66 Natural beauty, eternal, 105 Naval officers, life of, 139 sq.

Ordination, letters to candidates for, 58, 127 sq., 146, 162

Pain, mystery of, 189, 191 Parties in the Church, 109 Person, God revealed as a, 71 sq., 75 Prayer, his habit of intercessory, 29, 40, 51, 123, 138, 151, 154, 167 sq., 173, 185 Prayer, need of, 95, 97, 129-132, 160 sq., 162, 177 Providence revealed in life of individuals, 121

Sacraments, the, their significance, 76 sq., 80 Saints, called to be, 96, 149 sq. Schoolmaster, the work of a, 86 sq., 145 sq., 158 Selfishness, tendency of, 92 sq. Self-sacrifice, 166, 170 Self-sacrifice of God, 175 Simplicity of the Divine nature, 57 Suffering, a proof of the Divine love, 165 sq., 180 Sunday evening 'at homes,' 39 sq. Sympathy, meaning and need of, 91 sq., 106, 140, 171, 175-7 Sympathy, silent, 23 sq.

Tancock, Dr., impressions of F. R., 3 sq. Temptations of Christ, 144 Thackeray's novels, 103 sq. Think, attempts to teach men to, 12 Toft, work at, 25 sq. Toleration, 26 sq. Trinity, significance of doctrine of, 71, 75

Unity of all men in God, 70

Walk from London to Cambridge, 19 sq. Worship, public, 122

THE END