CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIII

xii -

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER XIII.

(1878.) PAGE Sympathy with sorrowful suffering — '"'Just as Thou wilt"

— The mother's last smile — Called to rest — The home nest stirred up — Clear guidance — '' Another little step"? — Last days in Leamington — Nieces and nephews — Devonshire visits — The Welsh nest — '' My study" — The harp-piano — More work — The sweep ot Jehovah's pencil — Bible readings — '' Take my love"

— Songs in a weary Christmas night .

250.

CHAPTER XIV.

(1879.) New Year's sunshine — Journal of mercies — (Facsimiles of Bible pages) — Prayer and intercessions — Work, ''if the Lord will" — London — The law of the Lord a delight

— Prospering — '' Loving all Along" — '' Bruey"' success — Irish plans — Temperance work — The oldest friend's visit — ''Can I go to India?" — Last Y. W.

C. A. address — "' Little Nony " — Last letters — Costly stones — The last 'Sunday crumb" card.

° 5s eye)

CHAPTER XV.

Tue Last WEEK.

The donkey boy — My Temperance regiment — Work on the village bank — Sailor friends — Helga's pictures — '*God's will delicious" —Good Mary and kind nurse —

''How good and kind to come"

— The last Sunday — The last hymns — Last messages — '' Do speak bright words for Jesus ' — The last song at the Golden Gate —

With the King — Astley Churchyard .

APPENDIX | |) en Sei ee ea are PORTRAIT . c

é F to face title,

ASTLEY RECTORY

, '

A ; . i

FACSIMILES OF BIBLE PAGES

», pe 278

F, R. H.'s ToMB IN ASTLEY CHURCHYARD

»» P309

MEMORIALS~-OF

F. R. H.

Cia PER vi, (1836—1844.) Introduction — Birth — Brothers and sisters — Name — Birthday wreaths — Astley Rectory (¢ustration) —Her father's music

— New home at Henwick — Flora's epitaph — Reading under the table — First rhyme.

E do not often see the risings of our rivers, the tiny spring lies hidden in some mountain home.

Even when the stream gathers strength in its downward course, it meets with many an obstructing boulder, passes through many an unfrequented valley, and traverses here and there a sunless ravine.

But the river deepens and widens, and is most known, most navigable, just as it passes away for ever from our gaze, lost in the ocean depths.

And thus it was with the early life of that dear sister whose course I would now attempt to trace.

Those who only knew her when her words were flowing deeply and widely, around, little guess the B /

MEMORIALS OF F, R. H.

dark shadows on her early course.

It is most difficult to know what to give, and what to withhold, in these pages.

In simple dependence on God's overruling guidance, a selection is now made from what she little thought would ever be published.

Remembering one of her latest whispers, "I did so want to glorify Him in every step of my way," it is thought right to unfold these liferecords,

May her desire be fulfilled !

"Come nearer, Sun of Righteousness, that we, Whose dim, short hours of day so swiftly run,

So overflowed with love and light may be, So lost in glory of the nearing Sun, That not our light, but Z/ne, the world may see,

New praise to Thee through our poor lives be won!"

FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL was born on the 14th of December, 1836, and was the youngest child of William Henry Havergal and Jane his wife.

Her father was then Rector of Astley, Worcestershire.

The names of her brothers and sisters, in the order of their birth, were :— 1. Jane Miriam, who married Henry Crane, Esq., of Oakhampton, near Stourport.

2. Henry East, vicar of Cople, Bedfordshire, who died 1875.

Married Frances Mary, daughter ot George J. A. Walker, Esq., Norton, near Worcester,

3. Maria Vernon Graham.

"WHAT THE 'RR! DOTH REPRESENT."

- 4. Ellen Prestage, who married Giles Shaw, Esq,., of Celbridge Lodge, county Kildare, now of Winterdyne, Bewdley.

5. Francis Tebbs, vicar of Upton Bishop, near Ross.

Married Isabel Susan, daughter of Colonel W. Martin.

On the 25th of January, 1837, Frances was baptized in Astley Church by the Rev. John Cawood, incumbent of St. Ann's, Bewdley.

Her godmothers were Miss Lucy Emra, of St. George's Vicarage, near Bristol, authoress of '' Lawrence the Martyr," "Heavenly Themes," and other poems ; and Miss Elizabeth Cawood, whose clever and attractive brightness had ever grea€ influence over her little goddaughter.

Her godfather was the Rev. W. H. Ridley, Rector of Hambleden.

In the " Ministry of Song" we read how Frances loved her name of Ridley, and that she bore it from one descended from the godly and learned

Bishop Ridley, of the noble army of martyrs.

"But 'what the R. doth represent'

I value and revere, A diamond clasp it seems to be, On golden chains, enlinking me In loyai love to England's hope, - The Church I hold so dear."

"Our sweet baby," her father wrote, "grows

MEMORIALS OF F. R. I.

nicely.

She was baptized last Wednesday, ' Frances Ridley.'

All are eager for her to be called Fanny, but I do not like it."

However, as a child we called her Fanny, but from the time of the publication of her first book, "The Ministry of Song," Frances was her usual signature, and she much preferred her baptismal name.

Her unique surname was spelt Heavergill in 1694, afterwards Havergill, or Havergali, but always Havergal since orthography in general ceased to. vary.

The derivation of the name is thought to be " Heaver-gill, the heaving or rising of the brook or gill."

My sister Miriam supplies the next link.

"My recollection of Frances begins with the first day of her life; a pretty little babe even then, and by the time she reached two years of age, with her fair complexion, light curling hair, and bright expression, a prettier child was seldom seen.

At that age she spoke with perfect distinctness, and with greater fluency and variety of language than is usual in so young a child.

She comprehended and enjoyed any little stories that were told her.

I remember her animated look of attention when the Rev. J. East told her about a little

Mary who loved the Lord Jesus.

We were all taught to read early, and to repeat, by our dear mother; but as I had now left school I undertook this charming little pupil: teaching her reading, spelling, and a rhyme (generally one of Jane Taylor's), for half an hour every

ASTLEY RECTORY FORTY YEARS AGO.

morning, and in the afternoon twenty or thirty stitches of patchwork, with a very short text to repeat next morning at breakfast.

When three years old, she could read easy books, and her brother Frank remembers how often she was found hiding under a table with some engrossing story."

The Rev. F. Jeffery, afterwards Vicar of Sway, was at this time our father's curate at Astley.

The following is an extract from his letter, September 29th, 1879.

"T well recollect Astley Rectory more than forty years ago.

At that time your sister Frances was rather more than two years old, a very fairy-like creature.

Her chief companion was then a white and tan spaniel, such as Landseer might have loved, and this little favourite she called Flora or Flo.

At morning prayers she always sat on her father's knee while he read the Scriptures.

It is likely that she learned to read asa mere pastime.

I well remember her sweet infant voice singing little hymns in imitation of her father.

Her nursemaid was recommended by Miss Cawood, from the Bewdley Sunday School.

'The day she was four years old her little maid brought her down after dinner to dessert, crowned with a wreath of bay-leaves.

I shall never forget the picture!

She was her dear mother in miniature, especially in the brightness of her expression and the sparkle of her eye.

A line from a classic poet was quoted exactly expressing this.

I mention this as well remembering the great beauty of your dear mother.

To-day it is exactly fourteen

MEMORIALS OF F. R. #.

years since I saw the sun for the last time, but it would need many more years than that, to blot out my recol_ lection of Astley Rectory.

" Ah! how each dear domestic scene I knew Charms with the inagic of a moonlight view,

Its colours mellowed not impaired by time!"

Her sister Miriam continues:

" At four years old, Frances could read the Bible and any ordinary book correctly, and had learned to write in round hand.

French and music were gradually added ; but great care was always taken not to tire her or excite the precocity of her mind, and she never had a regular governess, "Mr. Jeffery has referred to her wreath of bay on her fourth birthday, and I remember making a wreath of the pink china roses which grew among the ivy on the rectory on her third birthday.

Alas! the rose and the prophetic bay reappeared among her funeral wreaths."

The surroundings of dear Frances' early days in our Astley home may as well be given in the descriptive lines of my sister Miriam, written in 1863, accompanying her sketch of the church and rectory.

" Behold thy birthplace, Frances!

The old house Entwined with ivy, roses, and the vine ; Beneath the shadow of the ancient shrine

Where ministered our father twenty years.

(FROM A SKETCH BY MRS.

CRANE.) ASTLEY CHURCH AND RECTORY IN 1839.

fOOR YEARS OLD.

"NI He built the northern aisle, and gave the clock, A musical memento of his love For time and tune and punctuality !

Fair is the garden ground, and there the flowers Were trained with care and skill by ovze who now

Rests from her labours in the heavenly land.

Here life and death together meet ; the tombs Stand close beside the mossy bank, where once

Sisters and brothers met in frolic play.

Around, the wooded hills in beauty rise !

Earth has not many scenes more fair than this, And none more dear to those who called it Home!"

Our Sunday evening hymn-singing is vividly recalled, in which little Fanny soon took part.

At this time our dear father was an invalid; music was his solace, and he composed cathedral services, also many hundreds of chants and tunes, and several sacred songs, the profits of which were always devoted to various Societies, home and foreign, and the restoration of churches.*

Beside the rich chords and tuneful song in our home, there were wise and holy influences.

* My father's first published musical composition was a setting of Bishop Heber's hymn, "From Greenland's icy mountains."

The proceeds amounted to £180, and were devoted to,the Church Missionary Society.

In 1836 the Gresham prize medal was awarded to him for a cathedral service in A, In 1841 a second gold medal was adjudged for his anthem, "Give Thanks."

MEMORIALS OF F. &. II.

Our parents' prayers and example in searching the Scriptures, and their loving cheery ways, activity and punctuality, were the keynotes of our child-life.

One of our mother's letters is given, written when Fanny was away on her first visit (1840).

I am so glad to hear how happy you are at Wycombe.

Try and be very obedient to dear grandmamma and your sister Ellen, and I hope you will do all you can to please dear grandpapa.

I miss you very much, and often think I hear you call "mamma," or expect you are coming to me.

You remember the three little babies at Dunley.

Jane, the one that you nursed, is gone to heaven.

May my Fanny know and love Jesus Christ! then she will be sure to go to heaven whether she dies young or old.

Some of the seeds are come up in your garden; I love to watch them, because you helped me to sow them.

Dear papa sends his love.

Good bye, dear Fanny.

From dear Mamma.

In 1842 the living of Astley was resigned, and Henwick House, in the parish of Hallow, was our temporary home till our dear father's appointment by Bishop Pepys to the Rectory of St.

Nicholas, Worcester, in 1845.

The only distinct remembrance of this time is of Frances' delight in the gardens and long terrace walk at Henwick, with sundry agile tree climbings, Perhaps her first grief was the death of her little dog Flo, which was buried under the snowy Mespilus tree in the

LITERARY NOVICIATE.

back lawn.

The sheet of paper is preserved on which she wrote:

* Here lies little Flora.

Died April 16th, 1844.

Aged 7.

Reverence her remains."

Frances always took care to be in the drawingroom while a professor was giving German lessons,

Without any one knowing it, she was listening and acquiring the language.

When discovered, she had made such progress that Mr. Lorentz begged he might instruct her, The treasured little book in which she wrote her childish hymns and rhymes begins with the following verses written at the age of seven.

Sunpay is a pleasant day, When we to church do go; For there we sing and read and pray, And hear the sermon too, On Sunday hear the village bells ; It seems as if they said, Go to the church where the pastor tells How Christ for man has bled.

And if we love to pray and read While we are in our youth, The Lord will help us in our need, And keep us in His truth.

All her rhymes are dated, and also some simple tales, written in a copybook for the benefit of her

ie)

MEMORIALS OF F. R. £7

little niece Miriam.

From nine years old and upwards she wrote long and amusingly descriptive letters, in perfect rhyme and rhythm, to her brother

Frank and her young friends.

There would have been a long blank now but for the Autobiography of her inner child-life.

It was written for her sister Maria, and unsealed only a few weeks ago.

As the shadows on her morning pathway contrast with the light that shone more and more unto the perfect day, it is thought right to give these pages in all their truthful simplicity.

CHAPTER, FI; (1843—1848.) Autobiography from six years old—Wanting to be happy—Sunday chapters and prayer — Golden light — Waving boughs — "*The caged lark" — No hypocrisy — Mother's last words — Death — No trance —The cry of the motherless — Wales —

Oakhampton.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY,

(Written in 1859.) HAVE often already planned and half intended to write for my own amusement in coming years a sort of little autobiography of those which are past; but this idea, although my life would furnish plenty of small adventures and incidents, I have now for several reasons laid aside ; I scarcely think it would repay the necessary outlay of many precious hours.

For, more and more, do I feel what valuable capital Time is, capital which must not be put out at merely ay interest, but as far as possible at the best and highest.

In lieu however of a history of my owfer life, I do think that a little account of my own zmer life would be a not unprofitable investment of an evening hour.

And may He who has led me these twenty-two "years through the wilderness" send His blessing upon me while I "remember all the way" by which He, I trust, has brought me hitherto.

My reasons for undertaking this little task are these. tst.

I have fonnd it so very pleasant and, profitable to

MEMORIALS OF F. R. I.

look back frequently upon what have been God's dealings with me, that a written retrospect is likely, with His blessing, to prove still more useful and delightful, as being less cursory and more definite.

2nd. I have always avoided keeping a diary, feeling certain that it never would or could be a strictly faithful picture of passing soul-life ; yet I think an account of the Zas¢, ina bird's-eye view, would be far easier to give in a true and uncoloured light than any memoranda of a present, which would be tinged with the prevailing hues of the moment, morning, noon, or twilight.

Therefore, as I feel sure that I shall not retain such a clear recollection of each year's history when memory is more burdened, and as I believe that even our own "experience" is a thing given to be used and improved, it seems almost a duty to endeavour to preserve it as clear and ready for reference and use (at times when " His love in times past" may be an anchor for the stormbeset spirit) as may be.

3rd. A diary no eye but mine should ever see.

But, for one reason, one eye shall read these pages, if it should be God's will that the volume of my life should soon close.

It is this.

While I do humbly trust, though tremblingly, that I am a child of God, I know, and knowing bewail it, that much in my life and conversation has not been, and is not, "as becometh the gospel of Christ" ; and there must be some, if not many, among my own beloved ones, who have no direct evidence concerning me, and whom I must have often grieved by my inconsistency.

And it might be that no opportunity of any "deathbed evidence" may be given me, or that my remaining time may be so short that I may never be able to show, by a closer walk with

AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

God, that I am truly His.

And as He has in His wonderful, most wonderful, mercy given me hope, I would not that any dear to me should sorrow for me as without hope.

So I shall give this to my dear sister Maria, to be opened only in case of my death; that she may have the comfort of hoping, that even in my darkest and most careless days I was not utterly forsaken of that Spirit, who I pray may never cease to strive with me.

"Call to remembrance the days of old."

"Thou shalt remember all the way which the Lord thy God hath led thee."

1843—1845.

Up to the time that I was six years old I have no remembrance of any religious ideas whatever.

Even, when taken once to see the corpse of a little boy of my own age (four years), lying in a coffin strewn with flowers, in dear papa's parish of Astley, I did not think about it as otherwise than a very sad and very curious thing that that little child should lie so still and cold.

I do not think I could ever have said any of those "pretty things" that little children often do, though there were sweet and beloved and holy ones round me who must have often tried to put good thoughts into my little mind.

But from six to eight I recall a different state of things.

The beginning of it was a sermon preached one Sunday morning, at Hallow Church, by Mr. (now Archdeacon) Phillpotts.

Of this I even now retain a distinct impression.

It was to me a very terrible one, dwelling much on hell and judgment, and what a fearful thing it is to fall into the hands of the

WEMORIALS OF F, R. Lf.

living God.

No one ever knew it, but this sermon haunted me, and day and night it crossed me.

I began to pray a good deal, though only night and morning, with a sort of fidget and impatience, almost angry at feeling so unhappy, and wanting and expecting to get a new heart, and have everything put straight and be made happy, all at once.

This sort of thing went on at intervals, not at all continuously, for often a month or two would pass without a serious thought or anything like true prayer.

At such times I utterly abominated being "talked to," would do anything on earth to escape the kindly meant admonitions of dear M——,, or the prayers which she would offer for me.

Any cut or bruise (and such were more. the rule than exception in those wild days of tree-climbing, wall-scaling, etc.) was instantly adduced as a reason why I could not possibly kneel down.

A chapter in the Bible was often a terrible bore.

Then, after a time of this sort, some mere trifle, very often the influence of a calm beautiful evening, or perhaps a "Sunday book" of some affecting kind, would rouse me up to uncomfortableness again.

One sort of habit I got into in a steady way, which was persevered in with more or less fervour according to the particular fit in which I might be.

Every Sunday afternoon I went alone into a little front room (at Henwick) over the hall, and there used to read a chapter in the Testament, and then knelt down and prayed for a few minutes, after which I usually felt soothed and less naughty.

Once, when Marian P. was spending a few days with me, she being my only little visitor at Henwick, I did not like any omission, and so took her with me, saying a

AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

few words of prayer "out of my head" without any embarrassment at her presence.

I think I had a far more vivid sense of the beauty of nature as a little child than I have even now; and its power over me was greater than any one would imagine.

I have hardly felt anything so intensely since, in the way of a sort of unbearable enjoyment.

Especially, and I think more than anything else, the golden quiet of a bright summer's day used to enter into me and do me good. What only some great and rare musical enjoyment is to me now, the shade of a tree under a clear blue sky, with a sunbeam glancing through the boughs, was to me then.

But I did not feel happy in my very enjoyment; I wanted more.

I do not think I was eight when I hit upon Cowper's lines, ending "My Father made them all!"

That was what I wanted to be able to say; and, after once seeing the words, I never saw a lovely scene again without being feased by them.

One spring (I think 1845) I kept thinking of them, and a dozen times a day said to myself, ""Oh if God would but make me a Christian before the summer comes!" because I longed so to enjoy His works as I felt they could be enjoyed.

And I could not bear to think of another summer coming and going, and finding and leaving me still "nota

Christian."

I shall know some day w/y my Father left me to walk thus alone in my early childhood, why such long years of dissatisfaction and restlessness were apportioned me, while others fancied me a happy thoughtless child.

But He must have been teaching me, and " who teacheth like Him?"

Another soothing influence to

MEMORIALS OF FR. Hf.

me was the presence of any one whom I believed to be more than commonly holy: not among those nearest and dearest to me at home; how perversely I overlooked them / but any very pious clergyman, or other manifest and shining Christian.

The Rev. John Davies, of St.

Clement's, I particularly reverenced; and his or any similar presence did me a sort of indefinite good.

I used to want such to speak a word about good things to me, much as I hated it from those who would willingly have given it me.

All this while I don't think any one could have given the remotest guess at what passed in my mind, or have given me credit for a single serious thought.

I kvew I was "a naughty child," never entertained any doubts on the subject; in fact, I almost enjoyed my naughtiness in a savage desperate kind of way, because I utterly despaired of getting any better, except by being "' made a Christian," which, as months passed on, leaving me rather worse than better, was a less and less Aofed for, though more and more /onged for, change.

Towards the end of these two years I think (though I do not distinctly remember) that I must have become a shade quieter and happier, because of what is the first memory in my next little soul era.

July, 1845—Spring, 1850.

We went to St. Nicholas' Rectory in 1845, and it was in very great bitterness that I bade adieu to my pleasant country life, and became, as I remember dear papa calling me, "a caged lark."

This made a great difference to me, for I do think that the quiet every day beauty of trees and sunshine was ¢/e chief external influ-

AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

ence upon my early childhood.

Waving boughs and golden light always touched and quieted me, and spoke to me, and told me about God.

Being a " youngest" by so many years, and not knowing many children, I very rarely had a companion except my little Flora, in that large Henwick garden, where I first learned to ¢hink; and that may have been the reason why trees and grass were so much tome.

They were the first pleasant leaf in God's great lesson book with me.

But at St. Nicholas'

Rectory I had a little tiny room all my own, and that was quite the next best thing ; its little window was my

"country" (for a "walk" with another was never the same thing as those lonely loiterings in the garden), and soon the sky and the clouds were the same sort of relations to my spirit that trees and flowers had been.

Soon after coming, a sermon by the curate on " Fear not, little flock," etc., struck me very much, and woke me up again from a longer slumber to a more restless unhappiness than usual.

I did so want to be happy and be "a Christian," which term embraced everything I could possibly think of in the way of happiness.

And I didn't at all see how I was to be, except by praying very hard ; and that I had done so often that I got quite disheartened at its resultlessness,

At this time I don't think I had any clear ideas about believing on the Lord Jesus, and so getting rid of the burden which had pressed so long upon my little soul.

My general notion was that I didn't love God at all, and was very bad and wicked altogether ; that if I went on praying very much, something would come to me and change me all at once, and make me like many whom I read about and a few whom

Isaw.

As for ¢xizg to be good, that seemed of next to C

MEMORIALS OF F. R. £1.

no use; it was like struggling in a quicksand, the more you struggle the deeper you sink.

To come back to the sermon.

I had never yet spoken a word to any mortal about religion; but now I was so uneasy that, after nearly a fortnight's hesitation, taking the emboldening opportunity of being alone with the curate one evening when almost dark, I told him my trouble; saying especially that I thought I was getting worse, because since I had come to St. Nicholas' I had not cared at all for Sunday afternoon reading and prayer.

His advice did not satisfy me.

He said the excitement of moving and coming into new scenes was the cause most likely of my feeling worse, and that would soon go off; then I was to try and be a good child, and pray, etc., etc.

So, after that, my lips were utterly sealed to all but God for another five years or rather more.

Even when feeling most, I fancied I could as soon speak Sanscrit, or die, as utter a word to a human being on what was only between me and God.

This intense reserve must have grieved those who loved me.

Consequently too, anything like hypocrisy was the sin of all others which I could least understand, and imagined the most zmpossible to commit.

How could any one say or seem more than they felt, when it was' so impossible to say as much as one felt !

My dear mamma's illness and death (July 5th, 1848) did not make the impression on me which might have been expected; I mean as regards my spiritual state, for my intense sorrow, childish though it was, seems even now, after the lapse of eleven years, a thing of which I do not like to speak or think.

A mother's death must be childhood's greatest grief.

But I am trying now to write only of my soul's life.

I did not at all expect her +

AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

departure, and shut my ears in a very hardened way to those who tried to prepare me for it ; so when it came I was not ready, and there was nothing but bitterness in it tome.

I didnot, woud not, see God's hand in it, and the stroke left me worse than it found me.

One subject offen occupied my mind in these years, which would seem unusual for a child—the Lord's Supper.

After coming to St. Nicholas', almost every monthly sacrament made me thoughtful.

I begged to be allowed to stay in the church and see it administered "only once," but this apparently mere curiosity was not gratified, so I used to go round to the vestry and listen to the service through the door.

One Sunday the hymn " My God, and is Thy table spread," was sung before sermon ; it quite upset me, and I cried violently, though

-being in a corner of the pew I managed to conceal it. I used to reckon the years to the time when the invitation would extend to me too, not by any means happily, for I wondered what I should ever do; I could not stay away, but how could I dare to go?

'Well, I hope I shall be a Christian by then!" was my only comfort.

—_————— Turning from the Autobiography, some of her mother's words are given.

"You are my youngest little girl, and I feel more anxious about you than the rest.

I do pray for the Holy Spirit to lead you and guide you.

And remember, nothing but the precious blood of Christ can make you clean and lovely in God's sight."

MEMORIALS OF F, R. I.

Frances. "Oh, mamma, I am sure you will get better and go to church again !"

"No, dear child; the church mamma is going to is the general assembly and church of the firstborn in heaven.

How glorious to know I shall soon see my Saviour face to face!

Now go and play and sing some of your little hymns for me; there is one verse I should like you to sing twice over:

" And when her path is darkened She lifts her trusting eye, And says 'my Father calls me To mansions in the sky !'"

Before her mother's death (when she was eleven years old) her wish was gratified to see the Lord's

Supper administered.

We remember her grave, flushed face, when kneeling at her mother's bed during the " Communion of the Sick."

The whole story of her child life at this time is told in her "Four Happy Days," in which, under the name of " Annie," she reveals the bitterness of this first grief.

We can almost see her in her tiny bedroom, "kneeling on the chair, leaning her little arms on the window-seat, and feeling as if she wished she had something to lean her little heart on too.

The clouds had been her great friends since she had had no trees to sit in and make up fancies about.

Sometimes she watched the clouds

"HOUR TAPEY Da VS.

and wondered all sorts of things about them, and especially wished she could reach the splendid white ones which looked like snow mountains that could be climbed and rested upon.

But she found in a book that they were only vapour like the others, and that there would be nothing to rest upon and look down upon, only dismal thick mist and rain.

Poor child! there are other bright things besides shining clouds, which when reached are only mist and tears, .

She was musing over some words which had just been spoken in her mother's room.

'Fanny dear, pray to God to prepare you for all that He is preparing for you.

Her mamma said them very feebly and solemnly when she said good-night, and now they seemed to sound over and over again, so that they never should or could be forgotten.

'I wonder what He is preparing for me,' she thought.

'Oh I do hope He is preparing one of the many mansions for me! how I wish I knew whether He is! But I don't think He is preparing me for it, else I should not feel naughty so often.'

But her mamma meant something sadder and nearer, which she knew God was surely preparing day by day for her little girl; she knew it could not be very long before she would be singing the 'new song' in perfect joy, while all her child's little songs would be hushed in great sorrow, the

MEMORIALS OF F. R. £1.

greatest that a child can know.

Her mamma saw how strangely she was unprepared for all this, and she never would stay to listen to anything her sisters said about their dear mamma being worse."

Only a few weeks before her own death, Frances referred to this: "The words mamma taught me in 1848 have been a fe prayer with me.

This 'preparing' goes on; it is as when gaining one horizon, another and another spreads before you.

So every event prepares us for the next that is prepared for us.

Mamma's words I also remember, 'Dear child, you have your own little bedroom now, it ought to be a little Bethel"

I could not ¢hez make head or tail of what she meant, and often wondered, till some months after, when reading in Genesis I came to the chapter ; and then I understood it.

Having that small room to myself developed me much as a child ; it was mine, and to me it was the cosiest little nest in the world."

We must take one more look (from the " Four Happy Days") at St. Nicholas' Rectory on the 11th of July, 1848.

" Annie [Frances] was standing by the window in a front room, looking through a little space between the window and blind.

All the shops were shut up, though it was not Sunday.

She knew it would be dreadful to

THE CRY OF THE MOTHERLESS.

look out of that window, and yet she felt she must look. She did not cry, she only stood and shivered in the warm air.

"Very slowly and quietly a funeral passed out of the front [Rectory] gate, and in another minute was out of sight, turning into the church.

Thenshe stood no longer, but rushed away to her own little room, and flung herself on her little bed, and cried

'oh,mamma! mamma! mamma!'

It seemed as if there was nothing else in her little heart but that one word.

The strange hope which had lasted all that week was gone.

She had found curious things in books, and one was that people had sometimes been supposed to be dead and yet it was only a trance, and they had revived and even recovered.

And so, when no one was near, she had gone again and again into that room, and drawn the curtain aside, half expecting to see the dear eyes unclose, and to feel the cold cheek warm again to her kiss.

But it was no trance.

The dear suffering mother was at rest, seeing Jesus face to face.

Only the smile of holy peace was left on that lovely face, and that remained to the last, telling of life beyond death; she had never seen the solemn beauty of that smile before.

But now all hope was gone, and she knew that she was motherless."

In her little book of poems she wrote:

MEMORIALS OF F. R. H.

I'ye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard, Neither can man's heart conceive, The blessed things God hath prepared For those who love Him and believe.

July 5th, 1848.

And again:

Oh! had I the wings of a dove, Soon, soon would I be at my rest ; I would fly to the Saviour I love, And there would I lie on His breast.

July oth.

On a marble tablet in St. Nicholas' Church, Worcester, is this inscription.

JANE, The beloved Wife of Rev. W. H. Havercat, M.A., Rector of this Parish, and Hon. Canon of Worcester

Cathedral, Died in holy peace, July 5th, 1848,

AGED 54 YEARS.

"7 give unto them eternal life."

After this sorrowful time our dear father took us all away to North Wales.

On our return Frances often visited her sister Miriam's home, Oakhampton, where she is remembered as a clever amusing child, sometimes a little wilful and troublesome from mere excess of animal spirits, but always affectionate and grateful for any little treat ; reading a good deal of poetry, and leaving traces of

EARLY WORK.

— her studies in volumes found in hayloft and manger and garden nooks.

When at St. Nicholas' Rectory, she threw herself into the work of her society for providing warm clothing ; and her chief coadjutor (whom she calls

"Maria" in "Four Happy Days") was the youngest daughter of Michael Thomas Sadler, M.P.

Though her grief for her dear mother's death was very deep, she ever tried to conceal it.

Not that it was always heavy upon her, for as she writes: "If anything else occupied my attention

I had a happy faculty of forgetting everything else for the moment.

And thus it happened that a merry laugh or a sudden light-heeled scamper upstairs and downstairs led others to think I had not many sad thoughts, whereas not a minute before my little heart was heavy and sad."

CHAPTER.

Ti.

(1848—1852.) The new decade — Meteor flashes — '' Oh for faith?» — School at last — Showers, but zo blessing — Breaking the ice — The climax — The school sunbeam — A gleam of hope — Trusting

Jesus — School again — Illness and patience — Wales — Singing and responding at '' Taffy services."

AUTOBIOGRAPHY RESUMED,

KNOW I did not love God at this time, the very thought of Him frightened me; but sometimes a feeling not unlike love would make me go to sleep with a wet pillow.

It would often be thus.

Going to bed, I would determine I would try to think about God, hard as it was; and after I lay down, as my thoughts did not flow at all naturally heavenward, any more than water flows upward, I forced them into a definite channel by a half whisper.

" How good it was of God to send Jesus to die!" was my usual beginning, while I by no means felt or believed that wonderful goodness.

Nevertheless it usually ended in my crying most heartily because I was so bad and He was so good, and because I didn't and couldn't love Him when He even died for sinners.

Here I ought to say that, for preservation from one deadly error, I ought especially to be thankful to my ever watchful Keeper.

Never for one moment, even from my earliest childhood, have I ever been tempted to think

AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

otherwise of myself than as a great and miserable and helpless sinner.

Never have I dared to think myself "as good as others," for even as a little child I knew and felt the sinfulness of my own heart.

Never has the shadow of a hope in my own righteousness, or of any trust in myself, crossed my mind.

Yet even this I say with the reservation that it is and has been so, as far as my own consciousness goes, for every year shows me more and more the utter deceitfulness of the heart:

"who can know it!"

Oh the comfort of thinking that there is One who zows it, and can therefore cleanse its most hidden chambers from their dark pollution.

"OQ God, unto whom all hearts be open," etc., is one of the sweetest things in our sweet Liturgy, to me, and it is wonderful what confidence it has often given me.

So passed the five years till the spring of 1850, a time full of many recollections which I should like to retrace, had I not determined to abide by my intention of recalling only the history of what I would now dare to hope, though for many years I doubted it, is God's own work in me, which He, according to His promise, will perfect in His own time.

1850 (Spring) to 1851 (February).

The bells were ringing in the new year, and not year only but decade, when Maria woke me and said, " It is

1850 now, Fanny!"

It was quite dark, and I lay listening to the new year's birth-song in silence.

<A dim looking onward through a fresh "ten years" all the way till 1860 came before me; I should be grown up if I lived; I a woman, how curious it seemed!

Perhaps I should be dead, and where?

If I lived, should I be a

MEMORIALS OF F, R. 1.

Christian?

That was the great thing in all my anticipations of coming years; but in a solemn hour, like a new year's midnight, it grew greater and more important than ever.

The sound of the bells died away, and all was quiet again, I did not muse long, but fell asleep to wake up in the first grey twilight of 1850.

Now the decade has nearly glided by (the first entire one in my recollection) ; the new year's bells of 1860 will soon be sounding forth ; God has preserved my life hitherto ; and how shall I answer the great question then, not "shall I be" but "am I, a Christian?"

May I, trusting and believing in the Lord Jesus as I do hope He has taught me to do, answer this great question of my life with a humble yet confident "yes"?

And, in entering upon another ten years, may I not hope that "to him that hath shall be given," that He will give me more faith, hope, and love, more knowledge of Himself, more meetness for His presence?

Amen/ I don't so much remember particular incidents in the early part of this year as general feelings and impressions, which were then rather altered in character, so much so as to form the beginning of a new division in my heart story.

This much I know, that a soberizing thoughtful time seemed to fall on me like a mantle, and my strivings were no longer the passionate spasmodic meteor flashes which they had been, but something deeper, more settled, more sorrowful.

All this was secret and only within my own breast, for not only at this time but all through my early life there were but a very few who knew me to be anything but a careless merry girl, light hearted in the extreme.

This spring a strange new sense of the vanity of life and earth and

AUTOBIOGRAPHY,

25} everything but the owe thing came over me, and when alone I sat and mused till I often cried.

I began to look onward more, and feel that I should not be a child much longer (I was thirteen) ; and then years would go by so quickly, people said they did, they went faster even then to me; and what would they bring? vanity and sameness and vexation?

And life began to seem such a little thing to me, such "a handbreadth," and what was there in it to care for?

I couldn't expect a happier lot than I had, and yet all I had was unsatisfactory ; and I should always be myse/f too, and I hated myse/f, so what was to be done?

Two or three things happened (though I do not at all remember what), which tended very strongly to confirm these sad thoughts ; death seemed around me; " passing away" earth's motto; "vanity" life's keynote.

As the beautiful spring came on there was a mist of melancholy over the very flowers: they had opened, well, what matter? they would fade again, and so would everything!

I did not enjoy that spring as I had others, its charm was gone.

Inthe end of May I joined Ellen in London, and we spent six weeks of gorgeous summer weather together at Wycombe with grandpapa.

What brought it before me I don't know, but now came a more definite and earnest prayer, for fazéz.

Oh to believe in Jesus, to believe that He had pardoned me! I used to go to bed rather early, and lie awake in the long summer twilight till Ellen came up, praying for this precious gift.

Oh for faith!

That was my cry ; but it was not given, at least not as and wen LT asked.

I read a great deal of the Bible at this time in a "straight on" sort of way, expecting to come to something which would set me free

MEMORIALS OF _F. R. H.

and bring the great gift of faith within my grasp.

How I got it I can't in the least tell ; but certainly about this time I had a clearer idea of salvation than ever before, though I fancied myself farther than ever from its blessedness.

This reminds me that as a child I read a good deal of the Bible, Isaiah being nearly my favourite book from the time I was ten or eleven.

I never succeeded in reading for any length of time on 'any regular plan, because if I missed at all in one I got disheartened and ennuyée, and after giving up altogether for a little while began something else.

Once I determined, if eternal life were in the Scriptures, find it Z zow/d, and resolved to begin giving an hour a day to very careful and prayerful reading of the New Testament.

Then came the great break in the current of my outer life, and with it adevelopment of the inner.

August 15th, 1850, to my great delight I went to school.

And that single half-year with dear Mrs. Teed, formerly of Great Campden House, at Belmont now, was perhaps the most important to me of any in my life.

The night before I went, Ellen,—dear, gentle, heavenly sister that she was, _stood by me, brushing my hair, and taking the last opportunity of loving counsel.

She told me that I was . going to begin a new chapter in my life: stay, her words were, "One of the great events of your life, Fanny!" and then she was silent.

I was captiously disposed, and rather wanted to avoid a serious conversation, so I answered carelessly, for I knew by the tone of her voice what she wanted to lead on to. | But it would not do, she went on till I was softened,—a most unusual thing under the process of being talked to, which generally had the

AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

most opposite effect.

She spoke of God's love, and of how pleasant and sweet a thing it was to love Him who first loved us.

I could not stand it, and for the first time for five years I spoke out: "I can't love God yet,

Nellie!" was all I said, but I felt a great deal more.

Next day I went.

Maria took me, and we reached Belmont quite in the evening.

It was nearly prayertime, and Maria and I were left to have some tea alone in the great drawing-room.

We had just finished when voices reached us, and we tried to find our way in their direction.

They came from the schoolroom, where the girls were singing their evening hymn prior to the weekly address of their chaplain, It sounded very sweet and soothing, as we stood behind the door in the last glow of sunset, and somewhat subdued the spirits and the curiosity which were exciting me considerably.

Then Miss Teed came out and brought us in, just as Mr. Parker was beginning his sermon.

It was from some text in Samuel which I forget ; but the two leading ideas were, that we should begin the new half-year with the Saviour who loved us and gave Himself for us, and ina spirit of helpful love one toward another.

It was a rather long address, and I was very tired and excited, so I ~ know I did not listen to it nearly all; but this much I have retained until now, and it was the keynote of my prayer that evening as I knelt for the first time beside my little school bed, so white and curtainless.

How I should like to run on with many reminiscences of school life!

But I zwz/7not!

It was not long before I felt that Mrs. Teed's teaching was something more than common, but, till. towards the end of the half-year, things went on much as usual with me.

MEMORIALS OF F. R. I.

After the middle of the half-year there was a difference.

It was Mrs. Teed's jizale to her long course of _school work, and she longed and prayed that it might indeed be finished with joy through the outpouring of God's blessing upon her labours.

That none might leave her roof unimpressed was her desire, and it was to a great extent fulfilled.

She prayed and spoke with us, together and individually, with a fervour which I have never since seen equalled, and seemed a very St. Paul in the intensity of her yearning over us.

The result was what might be really called a vevival among her young charge. There may have been, and probably was, some excitement ; but that the Holy Spirit was, even then and there, sent down into many a young heart, and that many dated from that time their real conversion to God, and went home that Christmas rejoicing in a newly and truly found Saviour, I have no doubt whatever.

My own two dearest friends were among these.

But, before the full tide of all this blessing set in, I was much in earnest.

To begin with; it must indeed have been a heart of stone that could resist dear Mrs. Teed's sweet and holy power.

Besides, we had pious teachers who often spoke on the best things to us, and had little me:2tings for prayer weekly in their own rooms.

And there were many Christian girls too, easily recognised by their general "'walk and conversation," almost by their very countenances ; these I knew "took sweet counsel tozether," and I envied them and longed to dare to share it. Mary was one of these ; we were naturally a great deal together, and I longed to be able to speak ani tell her how unhappy I often was; but it was loig before I summoned courage, At last I did,

Os le

AUTOLIOGRAPITY.

" Mary, dites-moi, est-ce que vous aimez Dieu?"

(We always had to speak French.) She looked almost surprised, there was no doubt about the matter with her.

"Oui, certainement," she said, "je l'aime plus que je ne pourrais vous dire."

Then I burst into tears and sobbed out "Eh bien, c'est cela que je désire tant, et moi je ne le puis pas!"

'The ice was broken, and dear Mary spoke very sweetly to me: I did not regret my confidence this time.

'Pouvez vous ou voulez vous dire que vous étes_ encore un petit enfant?"

'Oh, oui, je sais que je ne suis quwun enfant."

'Alors, écoutez!

Jésus disait, 'Suffer the little children,' etc.

C'est chaque petit enfant qui doit venir 4 Lui, chaque petit enfant qu'Il appelle, qu'Il veut embrasser."

She begged me to go to Jesus and tell Him I wanted to love Him and could not, and then He would teach me to.

The words of wise and even eminent men have since then fallen on my ear, but few have brought the dewy refreshment to my soul which the simple loving words of | my little Heaven-taught schoolfellow did.

But as yet they were only asa "very lovely song," etc., though I loved to listen to them, and acted upon them in darkness and trembling.

After this I had many talks with Mary, but with no one else.

Even with Diana, the goddess almost among my school friendships, and whom I believed to be like Mary, not a syllable could I utter on the subject ; though I longed to hear her speak to me as Mary did.

November came, and with it a marked increase of anxiety among undecided, and earnestness among decided ones.

I remember a feeling of awe stealing over me sometimes, at the consciousness that the "power of D

MEMORIALS OF F. R. IT.

the Lord was present" among us.

For so indeed it was.

As day after day passed on, one after another might be observed (even though little or nothing were said) to be going through the great sorrow which seemed to prelude the after-sent peace; and day after day one after another, hitherto silent, spoke out and told what peace and joy in believing they had found, and blessed God that they ever came to Belmont.

Religious topics became the common subjects of conversation among the girls; for even those as yet untouched could not but be struck with what passed around them.

In very general conversation I occasionally joined, but more reservedly than any almost, and never alluding to my own feelings, though I knew what it was for my heart to feel as if it must burst.

I am not quite sure, but I think, when Elizabeth —— told me that she too had found peace, I told her enough of my heart to establish confidence between us.

As I heard of one and another speaking in such terms of confidence and gladness, my heart used to sink within me, it seemed so utterly unattainable.

I prayed despairingly, as a drowning man cries for help who sees no help near.

I had prayed and sought so long, and yet I was farther off than these girls, many of whom had only begun to think of religion a few weeks before.

It was so very dark around me; I could not see Jesus in the storm nor hear His voice.

They spoke of His power and willingness to save, but I could find nothing to prove that He was willing to save me, and I wanted some special personal evidence about it. To vow, surely, that my sins were forgiven, and to have all my doubts taken away, was what I prayed and waited for.

Every day

AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

as it passed, while more were added to the rejoicing ones around me, only left me more hopeless, more heartsick at the hope deferred and often almost lost.

Yet I drank in every word (and they were many) that I heard about Jesus and His salvation.

I came to see that it was Christ adone that could satisfy me.

I longed zxtensely to come to Him, I wept and prayed day and night; but " there was no voice nor any that answered."

The climax came about the first or second week in December.

I shall never, never forget the evening of Sunday, December 8th.

Either the sermon at church or Mrs. Teed's subject, or both, had been Mark ii. 1-12.

Anyhow, I know we had heard much of that palsied one in his lonely helplessness, and of Christ's words of forgiveness, bringing joy and power and healing.

Diana had hardly seen me all day, which was an unusual thing.

(She was the sunbeam of the school, and a most particular friend of mine, and I loved her with a perfectly idolatrous affection,—such as, until that time, I had never, given to any one.

I, and most others, always supposed that her charming disposition and general sweetness arose from a purer and deeper fount than could dwell in her own nature; yet she never spoke on sacred things, though she seemed as faultless as a child could be.) For some days previously she had mixed as little as possible with others, though apparently unintentionally, and there had been a slight depression about her which, though probably unnoticed by others, struck me, from being accustomed to watch every changing light on her face with something approaching adoration,

'That even-

"MEMORIALS OF F. R. H.

'ng, as I sat nearly opposite to her at tea, I could not help seeing—nobody could—a new and_ remarkable radiance about her countenance.

It seemed literally lighted up from within, while her voice (I wonder whether it was as musical to others as to me!) even in the commonest necessary remarks sounded like a song of gladness.

Something was coming I was sure.

Diana was not the same.

I looked at her almost with awe, as one would on some spirit visitant.

As soon as tea was over she came round to my side of the table, sat down by me on the form, threw her arm round me, and said:

"Oh, Fanny, dearest Fanny, the blessing has come to me at last. Jesus has forgiven me, I know.

He is my Saviour, and I am so happy!

He is such a Saviour as I never imagined, so good, so loving!

He has not cast me out, He said so, and He says so to you.

Only come to Him and He will receive you.

Even now He loves you though you don't know it."

Much more she said which I do not remember, but the tone of her voice is as clearly sounding in my ear as if she still spoke.

Yes, she had found peace, and more than peace,—overflowing unspeakable joy ; yet, even in the first gush of its shining waters, she thought of those around, and almost her first impulse was to desire that her friends should possess what had been given to her to find.

Then she told me how, while every one had supposed her to be a Christian, she had not been so, though she had been seeking and praying for a long time ; and how, that day, the words

"thy sins be forgiven thee" had struck her suddenly, and she had thought them over all day till the time came when she could be alone with Him who spoke them; and then came the joyful power of believing in the love

AUTOBIOGRAPIIY.

and might of that gracious Saviour, and His deathbought pardon.

Afterwards, she told me how new and strange many things seemed to her.

The way in which she spoke of motives particularly impressed me.

It was a new light tome.

Actions, words, and intentions had been enough for me before, but from that evening I felt that my standard was raised, and that henceforth my strivings after a holy life must include more than I had dreamt of.

A consciousness of the purity of heart required by God came over me; and, though more disheartened than ever, I had learnt a great lesson.

The few remaining days, till the holidays, passed much as before, except that the last two or three unsettled me, and made me very much indisposed for a continuance of the earnest steady toil of the foregoing weeks ; for the first coming home from school, at the end of an unbroken half-year, is not a "ttle thing to a child.

From that time till the spring of the present year I date a course of weary seeking, inconstant and variable ; often departed from, but as often renewed, and by God's grace never entirely given up ; brightened from time to time with a gleam of hope; sweetened from time to time with a drop, though but a drop, of the still fountain of heavenly peace ; yet, as a rule, passed in the cold mists of doubt, and the chilly storms of temptation and inward strife, and the dim twilight of miserable and even disappointed longing,

Oh, how gladiy I would have exchanged my best things of earth, my happiest months and years, as far as outward things were concerned, with any one's lot, however wretched, who possessed that joy in the Lord

MEMORIALS OF F, k. A.

which I could not find.

At any time I would willingly have lost or suffered anything, might it but have brought me to the attainment of "full assurance."

And I am quite sure that zothing, in the way of earthly and external trials, could have been to me what the inner darkness and strife and utter weariness of spirit, through the greater part of these years, has been.

Many may have | thought. mine a comparatively thornless path; but often when the path was smoothest there were hidden thorns within, and wounds bleeding and rankling. february, 1851.

I feel that the beginning of this year ought to be marked as the commencement of a new life chapter, because it was then that, for the jrs¢ time, I ever knew what it was to have one gleam of hope or trust in Christ, or one spark of conscious faith.

Not that I would date conversion exactly from this time; that I cannot fix.

The time I know not, the fact I would desire to "make sure" more and more.

Having broken the ice by speaking on sacred things with a few at Belmont, it was the less difficult to do so again, and before long I had made a confidante of Miss

Cooke (who afterwards became my loved mother).

I think it must have been February when she was visiting at Oakhampton at the same time with me and had several conversations with me, each of which made me more earnest and hopeful.

At last, one evening, (I remember it was twilight,) I sat on the drawing-room sofa alone with her, and told her again how IJ longed to know that I was forgiven. She asked me a question which led to the hearty answer that I was sure I desired it above everything on

AUTOBIOGRAPITY.

earth, that even my precious papa was nothing in comparison,—brothers and sisters, and all I loved, I could lose everything were it but to attain this.

She paused, and then said slowly:

'' Then Fanny, I think, Z am sure, it will not be very long before your desire is granted, your hope fulfilled."

After a few more words she said:

"Why cannot you trust yourself to your Saviour at once?

Supposing that now, at this moment, Christ were to come in the clouds of heaven, and take up

His redeemed, could you not trust Him?

Would not His call, His promise, be enough for you?

Could you not commit your soul to Him, to your Saviour, Jesus?"

Then came a flash of hope across me, which made me feel literally breathless.

I remember how my heart beat.

"I could, surely," was my response; and I left her suddenly and ran away upstairs to think it out.

I flung myself on my knees in my room, and strove to realize the sudden hope.

I was very happy at last.

I could commit my soul to Jesus. I did not, and need not, fear His coming.

I could trust Him with my all for eternity.

It was so utterly new to have any bright thoughts about religion that I could hardly believe it could be so, that I had really gained such astep.

Then and there, I committed my soul to the Saviour, I do not mean to say without axy trembling or fear, but I did—and earth and heaven seemed bright from that moment—/ dd trust the Lord Jesus.

For the next few days my happiness continued.

Over and over again, I renewed that giving up my soul to the Saviour which had made entrance for the joy.

For the first time my Bible was szocet to me, and the first passage which I distinctly remember reading, in a new

MEMORIALS OF F. R. I.

and glad light, was the fourteenth and following chapters of St. John's Gospel.

We went to Bewdley in the large carriage, and I rode outside, so had no conversation to disturb me.

In coming home I took out a little Testament from my pocket, and read those beautiful. chapters, feeling how wondrously loving and tender they were, and that now I too might share in their beauty and comfort.

We must again leave the Autobiography, to supply some needed links.

In July 1851 our father married Caroline Ann, daughter of John Cooke, Esq., of Gloucester.

One of Frances' poetical letters lovingly describes her satisfaction at this event.

Her great desire to go to school was again gratified, and on the 5th of August, 1851, she went to Powick Court, near Worcester.

Being one of the first arrivals, Frances was invited to tea in the drawing-room, and exceedingly astonished Miss

Haynes by throwing her arms around her, exclaiming "I am so delighted to come to school!"

Towards December, hewever, when enjoying her studies, the intensity of her application was checked by severe erysipelas in her face and head.

She was soon removed home, and both school and home studies were prohibited by medical order.

I well remember her patience even then, when almost blind, and passing many weeks

STUDIES IN WELSH.

4l of precaution, wearisome to her naturally active mind and body.

She was so extremely agile in every movement, a very fairy with her golden curls and light step, her dear father calling her his

"Little Quicksilver," that to "lie still" was no light trial.

Extracts from letters to Elizabeth Clay, her schoolfellow and life-long correspondent, will here and elsewhere supply an otherwise lost link; they extend over a period of twenty-eight years, and are those referred to in future pages as letters Ste-E..C..

Cotwyn, NortH WaAtrEs, August 1852.

We came here on the znd.

'The change is doing us all good, and we think dear papa's eyes are a little better.

Colwyn suits me much better than Llandudno, and I am as well as possible.

We find pretty walks ad infinitum.

The donkey-girl teaches me Welsh.

I think I learn it very fast, and I have a Welsh Testament and Prayer Book.

At what Mary calls the " Taffy service"

I can sing and chant and respond as fully as the natives themselves.

Now for a little quiet bit, to tell you how I am getting on.

I wish I were not so impatient as I am, at hearing the (to me) dreadful news that I must on no account go to school again till after Christmas, and perhaps not at all!

Oh Iam so disappointed!

Icannot bear to be ignorant and behind others in learning, so this check is just what I most needed.

Still, I am sure it will be all

MEMORIALS OF F. R. 7.

right ; and if I receive good things at the hand of such a Father, shall I murmur at such a drawback, which is only to teach me a lesson ¥ must learn after all...

How bright everything seems 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 for two years.

It seems such a solemn vow.

I fear I should never have strength to keep it; but 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.

CHAPTER:

TY, (1852—1855.) School at Diisseldorf — Journey to Westphalia — Leaving school —Numero I.—Autobiography resumed—Life in the pastor's family—The Countess von Lippe—Letter from Pastor SchulzeBerge—The day of confirmation

—In Worcester cathedral— "Thine for ever" —Home life — Oakhampton enjoyment— ** Welcome home to my father."

N November she accompanied her parents to Germany.

(Z7o_£...C,) GRAFRATH, LVovember 1852.

Wearrived here, that papa might consult the great oculist, Dr. De Leuw.

The Hofrath is very good to his poor patients, and attends to them most carefully, and never charges them anything; the village is full of them.

The country round Grafrath must be pretty in summer, and I have found some nice walks.

The master of our hotel has a partiality for cats and dogs, and, as they follow him up to bed every night, the gentle patter of fifty-two feet is extremely amusing.

The Hofrath says papa has incipient cataract, which he hopes to be able to disperse.

As we need remain here only three weeks, we shall winter in Diisseldorf.

I will tell you about my school there, to which I am longing to return.

The " Louisenschule" is so called from

MEMORIALS OF F. R. i.

the Queen of Prussia.

There are no private schools here, and all the young ladies seem to attend this school, which numbers one hundred and ten scholars,

(To E. C)

KONIGSWINTER, Jay 13, 1853.

« Flaving had a month's holiday here, I am going back to the Louisenschule.

Fraulein Quincke is a very excellent schoolmistress, and the masters are undoubtedly very good.

My music master is extremely particular.

I find some harmonic scales by Mendelssohn good practice, but all my pretty English splashy pieces are interdicted.

I have joined the drawing class and am so fond of it.

The school is under the direction of that good man, Pastor Krafft, so altogether papa has decided to let me have my way and return to school, while he and mamma travel about.

I can chatter pretty fast in German, and am so well zz with all their lesson plans, that I should be sorry not to return.

I had an excellent testimony at the Easter examination.

Papa has taken us an excursion into Westphalia, partly in the hope of finding some interesting cousins there, inasmuch as Dr. De Leuw and others assure us our name is Westphalian.

But so far we have not succeeded.

We were delighted with Minster, the capital, a curious old German town.

The market place is surrounded with beautiful arcades of massive stone (instead of wood as at Chester), the light figurate pillars and open stonework are extremely elegant.

While mamma rested at the hotel, papa took me to the cathedral.

The bells were chiming confusedly.

It was a lovely evening after sunset.

We went in, and I never saw any-

MUNSTER CATHEDRAL.

thing so enchanting.

The light, soft and faint, streamed in through the western window, casting upon the pavement, beneath, the shadows of the marble pillars which supported the organ, in a peculiar way.

Scattered about were a few solitary worshippers, some before a cross or image, and some with books and tapers..

We listened to what seemed to be the sound of very sweet chanting in the choir, but on going nearer it had, ceased, and was echoing in another part.

It was in fact the sound of the bells, their extremely beautiful tones floating softly through the long aisles of the cathedral.

Altogether I cannot describe the impressions made upon one, but I can well imagine how the worshippers, kneeling about the cathedral, might mistake the quiet soothing feeling, which such a scene easily induces, for holy devotion.

Popery knows well how to lull and deceive, knows well how to entrap the senses and feelings ; and nothing can be better suited to the natural heart than such a religion.

Next morning a confirmation was held in one of the churches we happened to visit, and there, for the first time, I saw the elevation of the host.

Have you ever seen it?

You should for once.

It is so saddening, so dreadful, at the tinkling of a bell to see a whole congregation kneel and worship a wafer! Afterwards there was a procession round the church twenty times, with the host, acolytes, and incense, which same incense gives everything the most heathenish look ; and, while banners and crosses and pictures of saints passed round, a litany to the saints was chanted, with "Ora pro nobis" coming over and over again.

We have made other excursions, etc.

How much pleasure I have had, all I wish and all I want; but amI

MEMORIALS OF Fah. fi, having my good things here?

I wish I mew which Master I am serving.

Should I Jet go my hold on Christ so often and so readily, if mine were a true hold on Him?

I began so well at school, and thought that earthly learning would not for this time tempt me to forget heavenly things ; but day after day I grew more eager for my lessons, and less earnest in seeking Jesus.

It is pleasant to get good news from England.

Iam so proud and pleased about my brother Frank.

He was ordained at Christmas, and accepted a curacy at Hereford with good Mr. Hanbury.

Six months afterwards he was appointed to a minor canonry at Hereford Cathedral; so he is the youngest Minor Canon ever elected in England.

My dear brother Henry has another little daughter ; how I love my brothers !

(702k. Cs) OBERCASSEL, September 17, 1853.

« » « I have left school forever I suppose, and came here from Diisseldorf.

What a suffocating feeling it.is, leaving school for ever—a period, an era, completely passed and left behind!

One feels that childhood is over now, and a sense of tenfold increased responsibility and independence, so to speak, is a weight upon the spirit.

The strings seem loosed which have hitherto bound and yet protected one,—a_ child's obedience and diligence.

One's future education and formation of character, whether for good or evil, depends now upon oneself ; indeed in a measure one's whole life, one's happiness or misery through the whole pilgrimage, must be very, very greatly influenced by, and dependent on, that important time, the first year after leaving school.

CHILDHOOD PAST,

Many a power of mind must be exercised which, as yet, has had little opportunity to try its flight ; judgment and discretion in a thousand things are needful; one must think and act far more for oneself; self-denial must be learnt; oh so much hasto be done!

Asa child, the education of the mind was more in other hands, but now the education of mind and heart is confided to one's own care, and there will be an account to give of how this has been performed.

One's spirit is a precious diamond ; the rougher cutting work has been done by other hands, now one must undertake its further beautifying oneself, the polishing and grinding needs care and diligence and attention, and if neglected how shall we find an excuse with the great Master Jeweller, who had given the costly stone into our care?

Now a different place in life, in society, and in one's own family must be occupied ; more is expected from one, many a little burden from which the child is exempt must now be taken up voluntarily.

'Then the past years, as memory brings the long panorama slowly, one picture after another, before one's view, how spotted, how defiled are even the fairest of these scenes; every year having brought new guilt to be mourned over!

But thankfulness must not be forgotten amid the whirl of conflicting feelings and thoughts ; not drops but rich full measure of happiness filled my cup, at least through the greater part of this time ; and many blessings, which till now I have scarcely been aware of, ought to make me very grateful to Him, who does indeed Jet His sun shine on the most unthankful and evil. You experienced all this a year ago, and so will understand it.

You will like to know the result of my last examina-

MEMORIALS OF F. R. H.

tion.

Only fancy, when the testimonies were given out at the Louisenschule, amidst heart beating and cheek flushing (especially mine), " Frances Havergal, Mumerv

Eins /" broke the still silence of the awed assemblage.

You understand German enough to know that eas means one.

Proud I was, partly on account of being a daughter of Britain.

I did not go to sleep till nearly midnight, for pure delight and satisfaction.

I can't be satisfied without telling my friend the whole of the history.

In the Louisenschule, when a girl has not learnt everything (as you know I did not), she receives merely her testimony but 20 number.

This half-year, however, it seems that all the masters, in council assembled, were so very well pleased with the Zuglinderin's

(English girl's) papers and conduct that they agreed to break their rule for once, and honour me with Numero I., a thing which they had never done before!

AUTOBIOGRAPHY

RESUMED.

The year 1853 was unique in some things.

I was at school at Diisseldorf part of it; and stood alone (as far as I know) among the 110 girls.

I do not think there was one besides myself who cared for religion.

This was very bracing. I felt I must try to walk worthy of my calling, for Christ's sake ; and it brought a new and very strong desire to bear witness for my Master, to adorn His doctrine, and to win others for Him.

It made me more watchful and earnest than perhaps ever before, for I knew that any slip, in word or deed, would bring discredit on my profession, There was very much enmity to any profession, and I came in for more unkindness than

AUTOBIOGRAPHY AND LETTER.

would have been possible in an average English school, where I believe the tone is infinitely higher in every way and the supervision far more strict.

Results were: as to my schoolfellows zone, I do not &vow that I did any good among them ; though, towards the end of the time, several were certainly disarmed, and left off the small persecutions in which they had delighted, and were even affectionate to me.

As to teachers, I had the reward of leaving with the best zewgniss in the whole school, and with the highest praise and regret from every one.

As to myself, it was a sort of nailing my colours to the mast, I had taken a higher standard than ever before, and had come out more boldly and decidedly on the Lord's side than I might have done for years under ordinary circumstances, Yet the tide ebbed again before many months had passed, and I remember longing to be able to say "O God, my heart is fixed,"—in bitter mourning over its weakness and wavering.

(Letter to EL. C.)

OBERCASSEL, 1853.

You will want to know, dear Elizabeth, what brings me here.

Dear papa's eyes have been lately quite at a standstill as to improvement.

He is now with mamma at Heidelberg, leaving me under the care of a good pastor and his wife.

Obercassel is a pleasant village on the Rhine.

We see the Drachenfels, with a peep into a narrow rock-shut-in valley, through which the Rhine flows from Coblenz.

That you may glance into my room, I send herewith a Raphaelistic sketch thereof!

Busts of Goethe and Schiller, shelves and table covered E

MEMORIALS OF F. R. £1.

with German and French books, etc., etc.

It will soon be dusk, and then I go down and take my place by the Pastor Schulze-Berge, who will read aloud, while the pleasant frau pastorin and Lottchen work or knit.

Conversational interruptions, serious or amusing, will take their turn; and Goethe, whose life is the subject, will be criticised in every light.

Now, is not this very pleasant?

I like my quarters amazingly, and am very happy.

I get up at five o'clock, breakfast at seven; then I study for four hours.

Of course my books are nearly all German, and I write abstracts; I also give one hour to French literature. How I do enjoy myself when I get to the German poets and Universal

_ History, which I dive into with avidity.

If anything strikes me, I can always refer to the good pastor.

I have opportunities here of seeing a little of German high life.

Close by is the "court" of the Count von Lippe, a family worthy of their rank and title.

They live very simply, because they give more than half their income away.

The dowager countess is a perfect pattern of a Christian noble lady, also her gentle suffering daughter, Mathilde.

The count and his wife are now travelling in Italy.

Then there is an adopted daughter, Fraulein von Clondt, whom I lke very much.

To her I go now regularly from 9 to 10 am., to read some German author, which is very nice for me and very kind of her.

Besides that, I am constantly invited there to tea or for some excursions, so that I see many of the German aristocracy who are often there.

One of. the countess's daughters is a princess; I should like her to come while I am here, as I have never

GERMAN PASTOR'S LETTER.

St spoken to a princess in my life!

I am often on the Rhine, and I always row a little, it's such fun!

The German language is very easy to me, for except on Sundays, which I spend with the English clergyman of Diisseldorf, I never hear or speak English.

It is most absurd now when I begin to speak English ; I cannot get to think in it, and keep translating

German expressions which seem so much more natural to me to use.

I must go to Diisseldorf to visit Fraulein Quincke, whose especially beloved pupil I was.

One of her friends, Herr Niessen, an artist, was to paint a portrait of me for her; but he was ill and could not do it till the last day, and so he only sketched one.* Not many weeks more till I see you, —hurrah !

(Pastor Schulze-Berge to M. V. G. £7.) Seplember 24, 1879.

It is a joy to myself to give you some information about your beloved sister Frances' progress in those studies in which I had the privilege of being her instructor.

I had the greatest esteem for her while she was in our house, which only deepened each time

I saw her again or heard of her work.

She was committed to my care for her studies in 1853, at Obercassel.

I instructed her in German composition, * This fact about the artist's sketch led to recent search for it.

After many failures, Messrs. Elliott and Fry traced it by some artist friends.

The portrait was first heard of at Cologne, then at Bonn, and finally found in Fraulein Quincke's possession there, and sent to London.

MEMORIALS OF F. k. I.

literature, and histoiy; I learned to appreciate her rich talents and mental powers, so that the lessons were more pleasure than work.

She showed from the first such application, such rare talent, such depth of comprehension, that I can only speak of her progress as extraordinary.

She acquired such a knowledge of our most celebrated authors in a short time as even

German ladies attain only after much longer study.

They were precious moments when I unfolded to her the character of one of our noblest poets and thinkers, and let her have a glimpse into the splendour of his works.

Stirred to the depths of her soul, she burst out enthusiastically, "Oh what mental giants, what gifted men, these Germans are!"

What imprinted the stamp of nobility upon her whole being, and influenced all her opinions, was her true piety, and the deep reverence she had for her Lord and Saviour, whose example penetrated her young life through and through.

Seldom have I been more touched than by the news of her early " going home," but she is with Him to whom her soul belonged, her Lord.

With the united remembrance of Adelheid (her goddaughter) and all my family, Yours very sincerely,

PaSTOR SCHULZE-BERGE,

In December 1853 Fanny returned with her parents to England.

Passing over many months, we come to the solemn and long anticipated time of her confirmation in Worcester Cathedral, by Dr. Henry Pepys, Bishop of Worcester.

CONFIRMATION RECORD.

[From HER SEALED Papers.] July x7, 1854.

Now, on the evening of my confirmation day, I will look back upon it, and briefly endeavour to write some little record of it, for my own interest and profit in coming years.

Satan has been busy with me all this day.

I rose early; he then tried to persuade me to put off, little by little, my reading of the Bible and prayer, and to some extent succeeded in making me do other minor things first, and in preoccupying my mind.

At length ~I knelt.

I looked back on all my past life, and tried to thank God for all; but the praise was not so fervent as it should have been, nor the prayer so earnest, for a blessing not only on this day but on my future life; and my soul was grieved at this coldness.

But, ere I rose, my heart did seem a little warmer and Jesus a little nearer.

In the procession to Worcester Cathedral Ellen Wakeman was my companion.

On reaching our seat very near the rails, I sunk on my knees, and for the first time to-day the thought of "whose I am" burst upon me, and I prayed " my God, oh, my owa Father, Thou blessed Jesus my own Saviour, Thou Holy Spirit my ewz Comforter," and I stopped.

It scarcely seemed right for me to use the language of such strong assurance as this, but yet I did not retract.

The Litany only was chanted ; and, though my thoughts would fain have flown with each petition heavenward, yet every little thing seemed "edly a distraction, and the chanting was too often the subject of my thoughts.

My heart beat very fast, and my breath almost seemed to

MEMORIALS OF F. R. i.

stop, while the solemn question was being put by the bishop.

Never I think did I feel my own weakness and utter helplessness so much.

I hardly dared answer ; but "the Lord is my strength" was graciously suggested to me, and then the words quickly came from (I trust) my very heart; "Lord, I cannot without Thee, but oh, with Thy almighty help,—I Do."

I believe that the solemnity of what had just been uttered, with its exceeding comprehensiveness, was realized by me as far as my mind could grasp it.

I thought a good deal of the words "now unto Him that is able to keep you from falling" ; and that was my chief comfort.

We were the first to go up, and I was the fourth or fifth on whom the bishop laid his hands. At first, the thought came as to who was kneeling next to me, but then the next moment I felt alone, unconscious of my fellow candidates, of the many eyes fixed upon us, and the many thoughts of and prayers for me, alone with God and His chief minister.

My feelings when his hands. were placed on my head (and there was solemnity and earnestness in the very touch and manner) I cannot describe, they were too confused; but when the words " Defend,

O Lord, this Thy child with Thy heavenly grace, that she may continue Thine for ever, and daily increase in Thy Holy Spirit more and more, until she come unto Thy everlasting kingdom," were solemnly pronounced, if ever my heart followed a prayer it did then, if ever it thrilled with earnest longing not unmixed with joy, it did at the words "Thine for ever."

But, as if in zo feeling I might or could rest satisfied, there was still a longing "oh that I desired this ye¢ more earnestly, that I believed it ye¢ more fully."

We returned to our seats, and

"THINE ROR EVER!

for some time I wept, why I hardly know, it was not grief, nor anxiety, nor exactly joy.

About an hour and a quarter elapsed before all the candidates had been up to the rails ; part of the time being spent in meditation on the double transaction which was now sealed, and in thinking that I was now more than ever His; but I still rather sadly wished that I could fee more. Many portions of Scripture passed through my mind, particularly part of Romans vill.

Each time that the " Amen" was chanted in amore distant part of the cathedral, after the "Defend" had been pronounced, it seemed as though a choir of angels had come down to witness, and pour out from their pure spirits a deep and felt '' Amen."

The bishop pronounced the closing blessing so very impressively that it was like soothing balm to me, and the thought came "why should I doubt that my soul will indeed receive the blessing which God's minister is thus giving? why did God appoint him thus to bless if it were to be a mere idle form?

May not His blessing accompany them, and .

The paper was not finished, nor can any account of her first communion be found.

In her manuscript book of poems she wrote :

"THINE FOR EVER."

Oh! " Thine for ever," what a blessed thing To be for ever His who died for me!

My Saviour, all my life Thy praise I'll sing, Nor cease my song throughout eternity.

Ln the Cathedral, July 17, 1854,

MEMORIALS OF F. R. #2.

She always kept the anniversary of her confirmation day. When at Celbridge (1856), her juvenile instructor in Hebrew (John H. Shaw) remembers on one of these occasions missing her at their hour for study, and that she spent most of the day in holy retirement.

So lately as 1876 and 1877 she seems to have renewed her confirmation vow, in the following verses.

A. COVENANT.

Now, Lord, I give myself to Thee, I would be wholly Thine ; As Thou hast given Thyself to me, And Thou art wholly mine ; Oh take me, seal me as Thine own, Thine altogether—Thine alone.

(July 1876.) Onty for Jesus! Lord, keep it for ever, Sealed on the heart and engraved on the life!

Pulse of all gladness, and nerve of endeavour, Secret of rest, and the strength of our strife !

(July 1877.) We now return to her home life after her confirmation in 1854.

She carefully kept up all her studies, her abstracts in German, French, and English showing the rapidity and variety of her reading.

With her father's help she acquired sufficient knowledge of

" WELCOME HOME!"

Greek to enjoy studying the New Testament.

Her manuscript book contains twenty-five original German and English poems, beside poetical enigmas and charades, which she contributed to various pocket books under the name of "Sabrina" and "Zoide," and for which she often obtained prizes, the money thus gained being sent to the Church Missionary Society.

OakHAMPTON, May 14, 1855.

Here I am in the height of enjoyment with my brother Frank.

Little Miriam's absence is a drawback.

My Evelyn is ill; but she is very gentle and patient, indeed I never saw a sick child so utterly without fretfulness.

She is lovely, a perfect sunbeam, with golden wavy hair.

How rife everything in spring seems with beautiful emblems.

I don't mean such as are already down in poetry books, but those wildly, lovely, intangible similes which flit across the mind, like the shadows of a flying bird!

Our dear father had again been to Grafrath in 1855, and returned with his eyesight much better.

Frances writes :

Is not this glorious?

Such sudden improvement we hardly dared to hope for. We shall see papa in the reading desk on Sunday, where he has not been for nearly four years!

Oh, we are so happy.

Papa and mamma came home on Saturday.

We welcomed them in style.

MEMORIALS OF F. R. #.

made a triumphal arch over the hall-door with flowers and greenery, over the study door papa's crest in flowers, and over the dining-room a banner with the words in rosebuds and leaves, 'Welcome Home.'

Oh it was so nice that dear papa was able to see it; directly he came in he knelt down with us all, and offered such beautiful prayer or rather praise !

Crider PER *y, (1856—1860.) Ireland — F. R. H. and the Irish girls — Hebrew studies —

Grateful memory of Bible class teachings—'' Nearer heaven!"

— Chapters learnt — 'Touching the hem" — Leaving St.

Nicholas'—The loving teacher—Last page in Sunday Scholar's Register — Welcome to Shareshill.

N Irish school-girl pens the following recollections of meeting F. R. H. on her first visit to Celbridge Lodge, Ireland, May 1856.

Five o'clock p.m. was the hour appointed for the elder girls from the school to arrive at the Lodge.

Mrs.

Shaw met us at the hall door with gentle words to each, and then brought us into the drawing-room, we being in a great state of delight at the thought of seeing "the little

English lady."

In a few seconds Miss Frances, carolling like a bird, flashed into the room!

Flashed! yes, I say the word advisedly, flashed in like a burst of sunshine, like a hillside breeze, and stood before us, her fair sunny curls falling round her shoulders, her bright eyes dancing, and her fresh sweet voice ringing through the room.

I shall never forget that afternoon, never! I sat perfectly spellbound as she sang chant and hymn with marvellous sweetness, and then played two or three pieces of Handel, which thrilled me through and through.

She

MEMORIALS OF F. RX. H.

finished with singing her father's tune (Hobah) to " The Church of our fathers."

She shook hands with each, and said with a merry laugh: 'the next time I come to Treland I think we must get up a little singing class, and then you know you must all sing with me !"

As we walked home down the shady avenue one and another said: "Oh, isn't she lovely? and doesn't she sing like a born angel!"

"TI love her, I do; and I'd follow her every step of the way back to England if I could."

'Oh, she's a real Colleen Bawn !"

Another of the class felt, all the time, that there must be the music of God's own love in that fair singer's heart, and that so there was joy in her face, joy in her words, joyin her ways.

And the secret cry went up from that young Irish heart: "Lord, teach me, even me, to know and love Thee too."

On her next visit to Ireland the singing class was formed.

An invalid remembers at this time her "tender lovingkindness in lonely days of sorrow and suffering.

It was Miss Frances who first taught me Greek, which was swchk an interest and help to me, and afterwards she gave me Hebrew lessons too. Truly can I say, 'I thank my

God on every remembrance of thee !'"

Frances much enjoyed the study of Hebrew this summer with J. H. S.

During a pleasant expedition through county Wicklow one of our party was a learned Hebrew scholar.

It rather discomfited our good brother-in-law that Frances'

VISIT TO IRELAND.

attention seemed deeper in investigating his knowledge of Hebrew psalms and grammar than in the surrounding geography of glens and passes,

One other incident of her Irish visits was her attendance at a Bible class, conducted by the Rev. M. J. Bickerstaffe (now Vicar of Cookley).

Side by side with the tiniest children Frances took her seat, and long afterwards referred to the pleasure and benefit of his instructions.

September 20, 1869.

Dear Mr. BICKERSTAFFE,— Iam so sorry not to be well enough to hear you preach this morning.

Your sermons and Bible classes in 1865 were more real help to me than any I ever heard.

I always look gratefully back to them as having done more to open my eyes to the ** wondrous things" in God's word than any other human instrumentality.

; Yours affectionately and gratefully.

The year 1858 had not much incident.

She mentions her pleasure in listening to her father's Lent lectures on the Qucen of Sheba, and tells

: "the lectures are beautiful ; you her friend E could not form an idea of their fulness and freshness without hearing them.

These typical sermons are what papa specially excels in!"

She writes of —gleams and glimpses, but oh to be filled with joy

MEMORIALS OF F. R. H.

and the Holy Ghost! Oh, why cannot I trust Him fully ?

How very sweet those words are, "I write unto you, little children, because your sins are forgiven you for His name's sake."

They have comforted me, for Iam but a little child, only a babe in the spiritual life, and this seems so tenderly addressed to such, But oh that I could grow up in Him!

Sometimes I have felt almost happy in trying to realize what you write to me about, and at times I have gone on praying and pouring out all to Him, till time seemed forgotten, and I could scarcely tise and come back to earthly things.

Once I had a strange thrill of joy at a passing, and may-be foolish, thought.

You know how suffering I have been.

Well, one evening, passing the looking-glass in the twilight, I caught sight of myself rather flushed, and I thought it looked like the hectic spot that foretells mortal disease.

I know I am not in the remotest degree consumptive, but for an instant I thought it might be so.

Oh the extraordinary thrill of delight the idea brought, that possibly I might be nearer heaven than I thought!

It was almost ecstatic gladness; and then a chill of disappointment came when my common sense told me it could not be so!

But, in whatever way or time death comes to either of us, may our lamps be trimmed and burning.

From this time her letters tell of "The tremulous gleams of early days, The first faint thrills of love and praise,

Vibrating fitfully."

She seems to have read and learned the Scrip-

HOME LIFE.

tures systematically with her friend E. C.

In this I had joined them, and remember that in our country walks Frances repeated alternate verses with me.

She knew the whole of the Gospels, Epistles, Revelation, the Psalms, and Isaiah, and the Minor Prophets she learnt in later years.

At this time she was taking the titles of Christ for her daily searchings and remarks.

"Yesterday I took Christ our Advocate, it is one of the sweet titles.

Alpha and Omega will be a very suitable one for Sunday. I like to think about the Lord Jesus as He is in Himself, not only in relation to myself."

Incidental traces of holy walking as well as holy writing come out naturally; e.g. "I said something yesterday, dear Elizabeth, which I much regret, though thoughtlessly and not intentionally uttered.

I thought, after, it seemed an imputation upon ; the faintest impression of which I would remove at once from your mind.

Perhaps you did not notice it; but I did, and grieved that I said it."

Her home life was beautiful, though often only One knew the self-restraint and the self-denial of actions, trivial in themselves, but springing from the desire to please God.

I remember her refusing to go with me for a pleasant visit to Oakhampton, because she would not leave our dear mother alone, adding "if 1 can only go errands it will be of some use,"

MEMORIALS OF F. R.A,

(ToLEaC.) August.

As time passes on, dear Elizabeth, so does my hope strengthen that I really took a step onward when with you in the spring.

It was then that (like the woman in the press) I was enabled to come and touch the hem of His garment.

It was then that the truth made me free.

I have lost that weary bondage of doubt, and almost despair, which chained me for so many years.

I have the same sins and temptations as before, and I do not strive against them more than before, and it is often just as hard work.

But, whereas I could not see why I should be saved, I now cannot see why I should not be saved if Christ died for all.

On that word I take my stand and rest there.

I still wait for the hour when I believe He will reveal Himself to me more directly ; but it is the quiet waiting of present trust, not the restless waiting of anxiety and danger. is death is really my confidence, and I have tasted the sweetness of one new thing, praise !

In 1860 our father resigned the living of St.

Nicholas, but not before the bishop had kindly promised that his successor should be his much esteemed curate and friend, the Rev.

Charles Bullock.

Many parting gilts from the parishioners flowed in, both for the Rector and his wife, whose organizing powers and activity had much endeared her to the parish.

A most troublesome class of adult boys was quite a trophy of what loving words ard

"7 GAVE MY LIFE FOR THEE"

gentle rule could effect, and their parting address and present to her came with more costly gifts.

One of her class became a Scripture reader, another an ordained minister of our Church, and all brought forth good fruit in after years.

Frances writes to E. C.:

What could be more conducive to spiritual improvement than what God has sent me lately, besides innumerable mercies, extra gratifications in many ways; all these beautiful testimonials to my precious papa, and lovely ones to dear mamma, and my own undeserved share in them, and my success in writing (for I have just received a formal application from the Editor of Good Words for poetical contributions).*

On the other hand I have just enough bodily infirmity to keep me mindful and humble.

Gold watches for dear Maria and myself came yesterday.

The inscriptions are both the same inside the cases:

From the parishioners of St.

Nicholas, Worcester, March 1860."

The teachers and children of the Sunday School have also sent us books, nicely chosen by Mr. Bullock.

One special little token from my own children I shall ever treasure.

* See ''A Line Left Out,' in Appendix, page 343.

Her well known hymn, ''I gave My life for thee," first appeared in Good Words.

It was written in Germany, 1858.

She had come in weary, and sat down opposite a picture with this motto.

At once the lines flashed upon her, and she wrote them in pencil on a scrap of paper.

Reading them over, they did not satisfy her.

She tossed them into the fire, but they fell out untouched ! Showing them some months after to her father, he encouraged her to preserve them, and wrote the tune '' Baca " specially for them.

MEMORIALS OF F. R. H.

Her Sunday School work was a loved employment.

Inthe neatly kept register, entitled " My Sunday Scholars, from 1846 to 1860," each child's birthday, entrance date, occurrences in their home, general impressions of their character, and subsequent events in their life, are all carefully noted.

While absent for a few weeks, Frances writes to them, and says: "My dear children have kept up quite a correspondence with me, and printing all my answers is quite a work of time and patience, but one I do not grudge.

Some of their letters are very sweet and encouraging, and all are at least affectionate and interesting.

At one time I had desperately uphill work, for mine was then the worst class in the school, and, out of fourteen, only a small minority were even hopeful.

Sunday after Sunday I absolutely cry about them!

Still, for some I thank God and take courage."

"MY SUNDAY SCHOLAR'S REGISTER."

[Zhe last page.| I did not think when I ruled this page that it would be unfilled.

Yet so it is, and the last of my dear second class fills its first space.

He who appointeth the bounds of our habitation has, in manifest providence, removed our own after fifteen years' sojourn. And it will probably be some time ere I again have a regular class to care for, as other claims will fill my Sunday hours,

"SUNDAY SCHOLAR'S REGISTER."

GF Among all my St. Nicholas memories, none will be fonder or deeper than my class.

I cannot tell any one how I loved them, I should hardly be believed; no one in the parish, either rich or poor, called forth the same love that they did.

Neither could I tell how bitter and grievous any misbehaviour among them was to me, no one knows the tears they have cost me; and because no one guessed at the depth of either the love or the sorrow, I had but little sympathy under disappointments with them.

I am wrong in one thing I know, but cannot help it; the feeling that, though I may have a very sincere love and interest in other children, yet I should never be able to give any future class the same intensity of affection which these have won and some of them have reciprocated.

It has been to my own soul a means of grace.

Often, when cold and lifeless in prayer, my nightly intercession for them has unsealed the frozen fountain, and the blessings sought for them seemed to fall on myself.

Often and often have my own words to them been as a message to myself of warning or peace.

My only regret is that I did not spend more time in preparing my lessons for them, not more on their account than my own, for seldom have Bible truths seemed to reach and touch me more than when seeking to arrange and simplify them for my children.

Therefore, I thank God that these children have been entrusted to me!

For some time past several of them have come to me, once a week, for separate reading and prayer.

These times I have enjoyed very much. I rather dissuaded than otherwise, unless any real desire after salvation was manifested; and I do think that this was so far effectual

MEMORIALS OF F. R. Fi.

that nearly all of those who did come were, at least at the time, truly in earnest on the great question.

I mark * the regular, X the occasional comers.

Nearly two years have already passed since they were " my children," and I cannot say that my love and interest have yet diminished.

_I went to Oakhampton at Midsummer 1859, and on my return relinquished them with great secret regret for another class.

I have one token of their love; given me, not by the then existing " 2nd class," but by those of both 1st and znd who were "my children."

This I treasure for their sakes, yet the remembrance of their love is more than its outward sign.

I trust it has been ¢-we bread which I have cast upon these waters; my Saviour knows, and He only, my earnest longings that these little ones should be His own.

I think I am quite content now that others should see the fruit, so that it be but truly borne, that others should enter into my feeble and wanting labours.

But, in dear papa's words, I do most fervently pray, '"" May all whose names are written here

In the Lamb's Book of Life appear !"

F. R. H., March 1860.

Leaving St. Nicholas was to Frances a strange mixture of sorrow and thankfulness, "because I do care more for papa and his health than for anything else in all the whole world!

But it is not a trifle to leave the many, rich and poor, with whom one has necessarily become more or Icss

REMOVAL TO SHARESHILL.

entwined in a way which none but a clergyman's family can.

Yet I hope dear papa will find comparative rest and strength in consequence, by going to the little country parish of Shareshill.

Papa is so very much to me, so much more than all besides!

He has been very ill again, and this puts an end to all ideas of farewell sermons or visits.

It is wonderfully thrilling to see him in illness, such utter peacefulness, such grand conceptions of God's absolute sovereignty in everything, such quiet rejoicing in His will, be it what it may ; such shining trust in Him, in and for everything, personal or parochial."

The removal to Shareshill proved beneficial, and the welcome of the parishioners was pleasing and encouraging.

Frances writes: "The first step, in the way of improvement at Shareshill, has been to abolish the Sunday post; to obtain this, the inhabitants were, as required, unanimous."

This subject was deeply felt by her, ever sympathising, as she did, with the men deprived of their Sunday rest ; and she often grieved that some of her

Christian friends did not take it up.

Among the subjects upon which she intended writing, when called home in 1879, was "Sunday Postal Burdens."

And, in a letter the same year, she writes: "I do think we Church of England are more conscientious about Sunday post than some others.

I was de-

MEMORIALS OF F. R. Hl.

lighted when visiting 'B. M.' to see with the notice of post times (in the hall) 'no delivery or despatch on Sunday.'

'No manner of work' must include postal delivery, and itis not right to ignore it; it grieves me when some double-first-class Christians do not consider the subject."

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