THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES

 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 MAGGIE BENSON
 
 Photo by H. Waller Barndt, Knightsbridge.] 
 
 Maggie. 
 
 1906. 
 Aged 41. 
 
 [Frontispiece.
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS 
 
 OF 
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 BY HER BROTHER 
 
 ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON 
 
 MASTER OF MAGDALENE COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE 
 
 LONDON 
 
 JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, VV. 
 
 1917
 
 PRINTED BY 
 
 WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, 
 
 LONDON AND BECCLKS, ENGLAND 
 
 All rights reservtd
 
 ^ 
 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 
 
 Prologue . . . . 
 
 I. 
 
 Childhood . . . . 
 
 II. 
 
 Lincoln . . . . 
 
 III. 
 
 Truro 
 
 IV. 
 
 Lady Margaret Hall 
 
 V. 
 
 London .... 
 
 VI. 
 
 Illness and Travel 
 
 VII. 
 
 Egypt 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Excavation 
 
 IX. 
 
 Winchester 
 
 X. 
 
 Tremans . . . . 
 
 XI. 
 
 Letters .... 
 
 XII. 
 
 Diary and Letters . 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The Shadow 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The Last Years 
 
 XV. 
 
 Books 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Character .... 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Religion .... 
 
 
 Index 
 
 I 
 
 7 
 
 19 
 
 25 
 44 
 
 79 
 114 
 
 143 
 189 
 
 234 
 260 
 
 297 
 332 
 363 
 391 
 411 
 417 
 
 435 
 445
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 There were reasons, when I thought and talked 
 about it with my mother, why I should not write 
 a record of my sister's life, but none of them seemed 
 to me good reasons. 
 
 Twenty years ago I wrote the life of my father 
 in much detail, having previously written a brief 
 memoir of my elder sister, and I lately made a short 
 and simple record of my brother Hugh ; so that it 
 may be thought and even said that the world has 
 heard enough about my family ; but that is not a 
 real reason for silence, because no one, after all, is 
 compelled to read a book, although critics are apt 
 to treat a writer who dwells much on kindred subjects 
 as if he were a kind of Ancient Mariner, who goes 
 about telling the same story, which one of three 
 cannot choose but hear, though he may beat his 
 breast at the sight of the merry folk trooping into 
 the Hall to the sound of music, and wish to be 
 among them. 
 
 But on the other hand, my sister had many 
 friends who knew her at different times of her life, 
 
 I B
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 and these at least would like to have the whole 
 story brought together. 
 
 And then there is another reason, that the last 
 years of my sister's life were spent under the shadow 
 of a long and grievous illness, which clouded her 
 mind, deprived her of light and happiness, gave her 
 strange fancies and delusions, and often plunged her 
 in enforced solitude. I saw much of her in these 
 sorrowful years, when she dwelt much on old 
 memories and happier days, and when her prisoned 
 spirit beat its strong wings in vain. 
 
 But all who loved her — and there are many 
 such — would grieve to feel that the sombre im- 
 pressions of that last period should conceal and 
 obliterate the recollections of what was a happy, 
 useful, and always fine life, much baffled and 
 hampered by invalidism, but spreading itself freely 
 in many directions, and giving its best very generously 
 and open-handedly. 
 
 I think, too, that, just at this time, the story of 
 my sister's work, and of the impress of her character 
 and temperament upon her work, will have a special 
 significance. Women have shown amply in the 
 present war their aptitude and capacity for many 
 employments and activities, and it is clear that 
 they will soon be called to a larger share in the 
 administration of the State, and to a wider as well 
 as a more directly technical sphere of influence. 
 My sister, I believe, is a notable instance of how 
 wide and firm a woman's intellectual grasp may be, 
 if her faculties are properly trained, and of how 
 sound and reasonable a quality her judgment may 
 prove, even when such characteristics are found, as 
 was the case with my sister, with a highly emotional 
 
 2
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 nature and an intense capacity both for bestowing 
 and inspiring ajffection. ^ly sister was deeply and 
 essentially feminine in temperament and outlook, 
 and yet I have known no one whose mind was 
 more characterised by the qualities of width, 
 accuracy, solidity, and incisiveness, which we are 
 accustomed to regard as essentially masculine. 
 
 After all, the best and only reason for making 
 a record of a life and character is that it should 
 have been of a rich and beautiful quality ; and this 
 was conspicuously the case with my sister Maggie. 
 She had a very clear, fresh, and comprehensive mind, 
 with a singular gift of mastering abstruse and 
 difficult subjects ; she had a wide range of interests 
 as well, art and archaeology and biblical study ; 
 moreover she had great and deep affections, and a 
 vivid sympathy with all living creatures, from birds 
 and dogs, which she understood and dealt with as 
 very few people I have known have been able to do, 
 to fellow-workers and fellow-students, and her inner 
 circle of relations and friends. Her friendships were 
 strong and devoted, and she was one too from whom 
 many sought help and inspiration ; and something 
 of this deserves to be told. 
 
 Moreover, if I compare her with my brother 
 Hugh, I think it is almost impossible to conceive 
 a greater contrast. Hugh was vivid, impatient, 
 instantly attractive, with remarkable gifts of rapid 
 expression and impressive public speech. My sister 
 was profound, deliberate, untiring, slow in execution, 
 thorough, and her charm, which was great, was not 
 easily or lightly revealed. She was shy and re- 
 tiring in manner, diffident and tentative ; apt to 
 consolidate her friendships by long and quiet 
 
 3
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 companionship ; while Hugh was easily bored, and 
 darted hither and thither like a glancing firefly. 
 
 My sister left many letters to friends and rela- 
 tions, some fragmentary diaries, and numerous 
 papers. She was not at her easiest in letters, 
 perhaps — the act of writing was distasteful to her — 
 she preferred talk at all times ; moreover she had 
 so many small enterprises in hand, and was so much 
 away from home, travelling and paying visits in 
 search of health, that her letters are very full of 
 practical details about her various undertakings. 
 Yet for all that there is much of interest and vigour 
 in them, even if they reveal rather than express the 
 drift of her mind and temperament. 
 
 But about one thing I have no doubt at all, and 
 that is of the rare distinction and fineness of her 
 mind and spirit. She was not in the least degree 
 or at any time, ordinary. She thought much and 
 anxiously over many problems, and her keen intel- 
 lect saw very clearly and swiftly into the principles 
 of a subject, while she had a strong grasp of detail, 
 and a wonderfully exact and accurate memory. At 
 the same time this intellectual force did not, as is 
 often the case, tend to draw her away from con- 
 crete life. She cared deeply for many people of 
 very different types, and her friendships were not 
 at all mere intellectual partnerships. She got great 
 joy out of her affections, and she suffered greatly 
 through them. Her books, strong and delicate as 
 they are, do not in the least express the fullness of 
 her mind and heart. 
 
 I have always believed that there is an immense 
 future before the art of biography. I think that we 
 are at present only in its initial stages, and have 
 
 4
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 not yet passed much beyond a theory that bio- 
 graphies should only concern themselves with great 
 figures and people of notable performance. I hold 
 rather the opposite view, that the real function of 
 biography is to deal with interesting and striking 
 personalities. Many great doers sacrifice per- 
 sonality to work, and their deeds are their best 
 record. But there are many people among us who 
 live and die practically unknown, so far as the world 
 is concerned, whose handling of life and thought and 
 emotion and relationship is yet exquisitely fine and 
 strong. But because this power expends itself in 
 daily intercourse and talk and friendship, penetrates 
 the lives and hearts of a small circle, it is apt to 
 evaporate in vague stimulus and beautiful memories, 
 and thus to mingle itself with the current of the 
 world. Yet these are very often the people who are 
 best worth recalling and hearing about, because 
 they radiated light and fragrance, and raised the 
 moral and artistic temperature of those with whom 
 they came into contact. 
 
 Of course in all friendships and affections there 
 are scenes, words, looks which cannot be made 
 known or described, because what gave them beauty 
 and inspiration was the sense of what lay behind, 
 and could not even then be uttered. But it seems 
 to me both strange and sad when those who have 
 been in contact with a fine nature involve all their 
 recollections alike in a veil of sacredness which 
 cannot be lifted. My own feeling is wholly different. 
 It seems to me to be a sacred duty to reveal what I 
 can of a noble character, which in the bond of affection 
 has interpreted life to many, cast a clear light upon 
 it, shown it to be something large and free. To 
 
 5
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 show how life can be lived nobly to those who would 
 live more nobly if they could, is one of the best gifts 
 that can be given to the world. 
 
 My sister was emphatically one of these chosen 
 spirits. I do not believe that any one who knew 
 her well could help being affected by her, or could 
 possibly forget her ; and so I have determined to 
 trace her swift and troubled passage across this 
 earthly scene, and if I can in the least degree succeed 
 in depicting her as she lived, I shall be more than 
 satisfied. 
 
 A. C. BENSON. 
 
 Magdalene College, Cambridge. 
 March 31. 1917.
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 CHILDHOOD 
 
 As I write these words, there lies before me a some- 
 what faded photograph, exactly fifty years old, 
 characterised by that strange power, which early 
 photographs have, of imparting a look of haggard 
 age to every face, however young. It is taken in 
 an angle of the North Front of Wellington College. 
 My father, then a young Headmaster of thirty-six, 
 stands in a voluminous and heavily braided frock- 
 coat, clasping a book, like a statue of himself in a 
 public garden. My mother, a sedate matron of 
 twenty-five, in a crinoline and a hat resembling a 
 dish of mayonnaise, holds my elder sister, Nelly, who 
 wears an ample headgear tied with large ribbons 
 under the chin ; my brother Martin and myself, in 
 little jackets and knickerbockers, stand on either 
 side of her, wearing an aspect of deep anxiety. The 
 beloved nurse Beth, then about fifty, has the look 
 of a centenarian ; she holds on her lap a mass of 
 white lace and linen, with a little hand drooping 
 down — my sister Maggie as she then appeared, just 
 a year old. Doubtless a proud and happy group, 
 in spite of the tension of the moment — for exposure 
 was a lengthy business in those days, and the artist 
 grimaced freely ! Yet but two survive — my mother 
 and myself. 
 
 7
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 My sister Margaret — Maggie as she was always 
 called — was born in 1865, on June 16. The Head- 
 master's house was then in the North Front of the 
 College, looking down the avenue of rhododendrons 
 and Wellingtonias, towards the lake. The College 
 had been built in 1858, a stately pile, I always think, 
 rather French than English in character, with its 
 two lead-capped flanking towers. It had grown up, 
 like a fairy palace, in a heathery waste sprinkled 
 with self-sown firs, where there was hardly a house 
 in sight. I recollect but little of the old Lodge, 
 except a nursery, with pictures pasted on the walls, 
 which were harmless enough by day, but terrifying 
 as dusk came on, and needing to be propitiated, 
 especially the likeness of an owl, perched on a 
 branch, with large staring wicked eyes, to which 
 endearing epithets were applied. The night-nursery 
 seems to me to have had a large low semi-circular 
 window, with florid metal traceries in front of it, 
 through which the avenue was visible — and behind 
 it, looking into the College Court, there appears to 
 me to have run a great bare corridor, with big 
 windows and boarded floor, containing no furniture, 
 and leading I know not whither, where we played on 
 wet afternoons. Then there was a tiny walled 
 garden, close by which was a high square chimney, 
 with a cornice at the top, which vomited black 
 smoke in a dreadful manner ; and down below, in 
 a corner among shrubs a quite insupportably fearful 
 stone face, of which the body seemed to have been 
 engulfed in the ground. It is natural enough, no 
 doubt, that little but the terrors of the place should 
 be imprinted on my memory. 
 
 Maggie was christened, I suppose, on July 20,
 
 CHILDHOOD 
 
 St. Margaret's day ; because her name had hardly 
 been settled when we arrived at Sandhurst Church. 
 My father was in favour of Bridget, an old family 
 name, but thought to be homely. My mother 
 wished for Agatha, and they had compromised upon 
 Margaret before they met old Mr. Parsons, the 
 clergyman, who told them that it was St. Margaret's 
 day ; and the name always seemed to express 
 my sister perfectly, in its sweet gentleness. Her 
 godfather was Bishop Westcott, who gave her a 
 little gold cross, with a single pearl — Margaret 
 means " pearl "■ — which she wore round her neck 
 with a black velvet ribbon, and the value of 
 which was believed in the nursery to be quite 
 inestimable. 
 
 So her life began ; and in the same year we moved 
 into the newly-built Master's Lodge, where we lived 
 till Maggie was eight years old, and then went to 
 Lincoln. I remember little of her in those early 
 days. She was a very serene and amiable child, 
 who took her own time about everything, and never 
 fussed. Indeed her deliberateness about getting 
 ready to go out was sometimes felt to be aggravating. 
 We started off all together in a tightly-packed 
 omnibus in 1869 to drive to Reading, en route for 
 Whitby. There were five children then, my brother 
 Fred having been born in 1867. My father and 
 mother, Beth and the nursemaid, we live children 
 with innumerable wraps, bags, bottles, satchels, 
 books, packed ourselves in on a sweltering summer 
 morning. It was a great and exciting adventure, and 
 there were innumerable claims about windows and 
 seats to be considered and disallowed. A silence 
 was broken by a little voice coming from where 
 
 9
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 Maggie sate ensconced, and hardly visible in her 
 comer — " I'm very comfitable, I am ! " 
 
 She and my sister Nelly used to play games with 
 their dolls'-house of immense secrecy. They would 
 never say what the adventures they enacted were, 
 I concealed myself behind a curtain in a room where 
 they were allowed to play, in order to penetrate 
 the mystery. A small cradle was produced, and two 
 small imperturbable china dolls were packed into 
 it. Then Nelly said, in a high fluty voice, " How 
 sweet is the affection of these innocent babes ! " 
 The play had begun in earnest, but my laughter 
 betrayed me ; they cried with anger, thrust me out 
 of the room into the passage, and locked the door, 
 so that I had to finish my laughter alone ! 
 
 In her last illness my sister wrote some little 
 recollections of early days. She speaks with delight 
 of the books that were read to us by my mother in 
 winter evenings such as " Thalaba," " Ivanhoe," and 
 " Phantastes," and even more of the times when my 
 mother, who had a great gift of improvisation, was 
 persuaded to tell us a story " out of her own head." 
 Maggie says that she could not read to herself till 
 she was five years old, and was thought backward ; 
 and that her writing was so bad that it was described 
 as the work of spiders which had fallen into the 
 inkpot, while her figures were supposed to resemble 
 potatoes. She remembered too how she burst into 
 tears of anger over a subtraction sum, and how a 
 looking-glass was fetched to show her how ugly it 
 made her, which offended, she says, her sense of 
 dignity. She says that she was inclined to dissolve 
 into tears over her work, and that in answer to a 
 question from a friend of my mother's as to what 
 
 10
 
 Photo by J. ]]\,lLr, Whitby.] 
 
 Mrs. Benson, Nellie, Maggie, Beth and Fred. 
 
 IS69. [To face page 10.
 
 CHILDHOOD 
 
 she was reading, she said that it was " a book called 
 ' Reading without Tears, or Tears without Reading 
 — she was not sure which. 
 
 She described how she caused amusement by 
 declaiming a poem — 
 
 " The pears and the apples 
 Hang rusty on the bough " 
 
 instead of " russet." 
 
 She and my sister used to do a little " prepara- 
 tion " by themselves in the dining-room for half-an- 
 hour before tea, — " but if the butler * came in, we 
 talked to him, and consulted him about our history, 
 and he described what he would do in case there 
 was a revolution," 
 
 In the hymn-singing on Sunday afternoons my 
 sister says that she always left out the line " And 
 every virtue we possess " in " Our Blest Redeemer," 
 because she did not think it was right to claim to 
 possess any virtues. 
 
 She remembered too how two dolls were given 
 her, one a boy in Scotch costume, who was said by 
 the donor to be " The Marquis of Lome " : but she 
 and her sister decided that this would not do, and 
 that he must always be called " Harry " in private, 
 for fear he should be too proud ; and further how 
 on one occasion when she had been told to sit quiet 
 in a chair for some misdemeanour, she said, " Ven 
 I get up, I'll vip my doll." 
 
 Here are one or two of her earliest letters. The 
 first is a little note written to my mother, who was 
 ill at the time. It is addressed to " Mrs. Benson," 
 
 * John Parker, for many years porter at Lambeth, and a 
 most faithful and valued friend. 
 
 II
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 and has a funny little stamp, very badly drawn, 
 upon it, with some mystical signs, a star and a 
 crescent and a cross, and " nursery postage — 
 ONE PENY " printed round the edges. It was like 
 Maggie to write a letter to express the affection 
 which she was too shy to speak. Indeed, in her 
 childish troubles, she used to go for comfort to my 
 mother, not to confide so much as to get strength 
 from loving contact, put her head down softly on 
 my mother's shoulder and say, " Oh, mamma ! " to 
 which the expected reply was "Oh, Maggie ! " — 
 and that was enough. 
 
 (1870.) 
 My dear Mama, 
 
 Please come to tea if you are not to tired 
 to-night, please do. Will you if you do please sit 
 on my side if you can. 
 
 Your loving little 
 
 Maggie. 
 
 Then comes a little batch of Maggie's letters 
 relating the chronicles of the nursery, all written 
 to my mother who had gone away for a long holiday, 
 to recover from an illness, and was staying with my 
 uncle Christopher Benson at Wiesbaden. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Well. Coll., 
 
 June 2 (1872). 
 
 My dear Mama, 
 
 I hope you are quite well. We went on the 
 pony yesterday with papa as there is a side-saddle. 
 
 12
 
 CHILDHOOD 
 
 Arthur went with us, it was such fun, it was so nice, 
 we hked it so much, and Aunty took Freddy out, 
 but it was so nice on the pony, Nelly slipped down, 
 but / did not of cause. Baby has got two teeth 
 is not that nice. I went to reading * the day before 
 yesterday, and Beth bought Nelly a little dolly and 
 me a bird in a cage which when you push down 
 the cage a little squecks a little and opens its mouth, 
 your loveing daughter, 
 
 IE 
 
 Magg 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Well. Coll., 
 
 June 4 (1872). 
 
 My dear Mama, 
 
 I hope you are better. We and papa (for 
 papa is not we) went out yesterday we neither fell 
 down, nor slid down the pony, the pony stumble 
 with Nelly, and shyed twice with me. It was 
 jolly with the pony. The first time he shyed with 
 me it was at a little pony carriage, and the 
 second time at a noise. / did not tumble down 
 either time. I have not gone out in the pony- 
 carriage ever since you went, but / am going to-day. 
 Your loveing daughter 
 
 Maggie. 
 
 Even then she was sensitive to little personal 
 impressions ; she says in one of those early letters — 
 " Papa came home at nine this morning. Mama 
 we have not heard from Martin. Papa looked 
 disappointed at not [hearing] from Martin." 
 
 * Reading. 
 13
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 In the next letter, " Baby " is my brother Hugh, 
 and Granny is my mother's mother, Mrs. Sidgwick. 
 The name of Pigg was that of a worthy tradesman 
 in a neighbouring village. It had appeared to us 
 almost incredibly delightful that anyone should 
 persist in being known by the name. We considered 
 that it must be done out of pure kind-heartedness 
 for other people's amusement. Names indeed are 
 for children very real things, inseparably connected 
 with their owners and with a magical sort of sym- 
 bolism about them, not merely convenient labels. 
 
 (To her Mother.) 
 
 Wellington College. 
 (1872.) 
 
 My dear Mama, 
 
 I hope you are quite well. Baby can walk 
 about quite by himself now. He is so joly and 
 amusing. When-ever he sees Granny he begings 
 to try to sing, as Granny always does when she 
 comes to tea. he very often trys to sing a hunting 
 song. 
 
 I hope you will come home at or before Christmas, 
 or after. We are going to change our name to Pigg. 
 Martin is going to be call'd Old Pig, and Arthur 
 big Pig and Nelly Dut Pig. And I thin Pig spelt 
 thinne. And Fred Pug Pig because he's so like 
 a monkey, and Baby grig Pig because he's the 
 smallest of us. Nelly is going to be call'd Dut 
 (which means Dutiful) because she whished him 
 to fall into a plool when he was trying to reach her 
 some water lilies was not that very kind of her. 
 
 14
 
 CHILDHOOD 
 
 They have nearly put on the slates of Crowthron* 
 church. 
 
 Baby often pulls himself up by a chair and 
 pushing it before him walks about. We all send 
 our love to you and Aunt Agnes f and uncle Chris. 
 Your loving dautergher Maggie. 
 
 In the summer of 1872 we children went off to 
 Rugby, to stay with my grandmother, Mrs. Sidgwick, 
 at her house in the Bilton Road. In the attic was 
 an old theatrical wardrobe, full of costumes used 
 by my mother and her brothers when they were 
 children. Maggie writes — 
 
 Rugby. 
 (1S72.) 
 
 My dear Mama, 
 
 I hope you are quite well. We have such 
 fun in the attic, I dressed to be a queen, and Nelly 
 dressed up to be a prince ; I had a crown on of 
 course and a white veil over it, and a bracelet on 
 too. Nelly was dressed very grandly too. I had 
 other things on besides the white veil and the crown 
 and much grander than them. Granny has got a 
 white cat and its hairs come off very much and it 
 got two little kittens and they were given away 
 before we came but we went to the house of a person 
 to whom Granny had given one of the kittens and 
 we saw it there. And we saw a donkey with its 
 mother. We all send our love to you. 
 
 Your loving daughter, 
 Maggie. 
 
 * Crovvthorne, a hamlet of Sandhurst, now a separate parish, 
 close to Wellington College, 
 t Mrs. Christopher Benson. 
 
 15
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 {Written on the same sheet as previous letter — 6y 
 Mrs. Sidgwick, to Mrs. Benson.) 
 
 Just a line or two, dearest Minnie, with the dear 
 children's letters. In spite of all the dullness which 
 Rugby summer holidays always bring, and the 
 deserted streets when we go out, they find pleasure 
 and excitement everjrvvhere, and this appears to 
 reach its climax when they get to the attic, whose 
 treasures appear to be inexhaustible, and I know 
 that they will be well amused there, if we should 
 ever have a soaking wet day, which the clouds this 
 afternoon almost portend. I assure you it is quite 
 delightful to me to have these dear children here, 
 and they all met me so lovingly. Weather 
 permitting, I shall take them a drive to-morrow 
 morning, as, if the night is dry, we can have croquet 
 in the afternoon. Then there are all the new 
 numbers of Aunt Judy, when they must be in the 
 house. They have all seemed quite well to-day, 
 and they have unfailing appetites. 
 
 . . . . k 
 
 Kindest love to all. 
 
 Your loving Mother, 
 
 Mary Sidgwick. 
 
 It is characteristic of Maggie's early sense of 
 responsibility that with this last letter is enclosed a 
 letter of my eldest brother s about our acting. 
 Maggie has written a severe little comment on the 
 top, " An old letter not sent by Martin when he 
 ought." This was Martin's letter — 
 
 i6
 
 CHILDHOOD 
 
 (1872.) 
 My dear Mamma, 
 
 I hope you are quite well. Our theatricals 
 went off with a great deal of eclat and we are going 
 to have some more. It is going to be " The Hunch- 
 back " and I am to be the Barrister. At this 
 present time I am in a fever of excitement about the 
 Peruvian Indians as I have been reading a book 
 called " Manu the Peruvian Chief." It is all about 
 the Incas and the Children of the Sun and of the 
 hanging gardens which they built for miles along 
 the Andes and of Cuzco. This is one of the pictures. 
 
 Farewell, 
 M. W. B. 
 
 The next letter is from Wellington College ; mj^ 
 father had gone to Lincoln to be installed as Chan- 
 cellor and Canon Residentiary. 
 
 Well. Coll., 
 
 Dec. 29 (1872). 
 
 My dear Mama, 
 
 I hope you are quite well. Baby can walk 
 so nicely now instead of Beth leaving him to push 
 about a chair alone she leaves him to walk about 
 alone is not that nice. You will only have one 
 more Sunday after this and then you will come 
 home again. I am quite tired of your going away 
 so often it is so tiresome is not it. I and Nelly have 
 not gone to Lincoln to see papa made Chancellor 
 because we had colds so Martin and Arthur will 
 have to tell us all about it. Papa has sent Nelly 
 a photograph of our house at Lincoln. I like the 
 look of it very much but I don't like going away 
 
 17 c
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 very much — papa has told us such a great deal 
 about our house (at Lincoln) and the garden and 
 papa says that there are two old ruined towers and 
 a piece of the old city wall in the garden is not that 
 nice. I wish you a happy new year. We have not 
 got that box which you sent us. Is not it a pity that 
 we are not all together this last Christmas and New 
 Year. The boys are gone to Lincoln though we 
 did not for they had not colds. I send my love to 
 you. Your loving daughter 
 
 Maggie. 
 
 i8
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 LINCOLN 
 
 All this time Maggie's closest companion was 
 Nelly, my elder sister, who was born in 1863. They 
 were very different in temperament. Nelly was a 
 quick, active, resourceful and adventurous girl, fond 
 of games, sociable, naturally inclined to take the 
 lead, and indeed to carry the war into the enemy's 
 country if necessary. She was indeed inclined to 
 rush in impulsively where fools feared to tread. 
 
 We settled in at the Chancery in 1873. It was 
 a picturesque rambling house of great extent, and 
 of very various dates, with endless corridors, lobbies, 
 staircases, odd attics and deserted outbuildings. 
 The nursery was a big room at the top of the house ; 
 my sisters occupied a bedroom which was approached 
 on one side by a spiral stone staircase from the ' 
 hall, which passed by a little oratory over the 
 entrance-porch, and came up into a little row of 
 quaint rooms looking out on Minster Yard. These 
 could also be approached by a wonderful passage 
 from the nursery, contrived by my father across 
 some leads. The schoolroom was the ancient 
 chapel, with a bit of the fifteenth-century screen 
 embodied in the wall. There was also a large 
 walled -garden, with a mound covered with elders, 
 
 19
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 two towers of the ancient city wall in the corners, 
 a hit of lawn, many fruit-trees and vegetable-beds. 
 
 There never was so delicious a house for children, 
 and the games we played in the deserted stables 
 and lofts, as well as in the garden-towers were 
 endlessly exciting and romantic. 
 
 When we went to Lincoln, Maggie was eight ; 
 she and my sister attended a school in an old panelled 
 house in Minster Yard. Maggie was in those days 
 a tall slim child, who kept her thoughts much to 
 herself, but was always ready to have plans and 
 secrets. She was, I think, rather my special ally. 
 We began a magazine there, and I remember that 
 Maggie's stories, written in a large straggling hand, 
 in which catastrophe followed catastrophe, all most 
 concisely told, and ending almost as soon as they 
 began, were not considered quite up to the family 
 standard, and the same applied to her early sketches. 
 She always insisted on signing her stories " Mr. 
 Pooley " — the name of a venerable Prebendary, 
 which seemed to us for some reason the height of 
 absurdity. " Don't you think it is rather silly, 
 always to sign your stories ' Mr. Pooley,' Maggie ? " 
 " I think I shall go on doing it," said Maggie, and 
 she did. 
 
 At Lincoln there occurred a curious instance of 
 Maggie's sensitive and almost morbid sense of 
 responsibility. She was walking with my sister 
 in the streets near the Minster, and saw a child 
 put a half-penny with which it was playing into 
 its mouth. In the nursery all copper coins were 
 supposed to be dangerous to life if placed for an 
 instant in the mouth. This was part of the care 
 which our dear old nurse took of us. Beth, as she 
 
 20
 
 LINCOLN 
 
 was called, always removed the little purple beans 
 from French beans, leaving only the green pod, 
 for some obscure reason of health ; she hunted out 
 of ginger-beer the tiniest fragments of cork — they 
 were supposed to " swell up inside you." She never 
 allowed us to pick up things on our walks for fear 
 we should " catch something." Copper coins were 
 supposed to produce " verdigris," which was sure 
 to be instantly fatal. 
 
 Maggie saw the child put the half-penny in its 
 mouth and was too shy to interfere, or to tell any- 
 one, but agonised over it in secret. A little later 
 a man was condemned to death at the Assizes for 
 the murder of a child in Lincoln. Maggie became 
 sure that it was the child she had seen, who had 
 died of verdigris, and that the criminal had been 
 falsely suspected of the murder. At last the strain 
 became too great, and she told the whole story to 
 my mother, who was able to comfort her. But the 
 incident shows what a childish imagination is capable 
 of ; and Maggie's power of multiplying the signifi- 
 cance of life by her imagination, and suffering deep 
 distress from a sense that she ought to have acted, 
 was characteristic of her all her life long. 
 
 There are a few of her Lincoln recollections 
 written down during her illness, in which her extra- 
 ordinary memory comes out. All the children of 
 the different Canons living in the Close are duly 
 recorded by their Christian names. It was a happy 
 time, full of little sociabilities, games and picnics. 
 Maggie records our visits to the central tower of 
 the Minster to hear and see " Great Tom " strike 
 the hour, and the awful pause after the clashing 
 of the small chimes when the wires attached to the 
 
 21
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 hammer of the great bell began to strain and quiver ; 
 and she remembered too how from some airy gallery 
 she looked down and saw the Dean in his garden 
 admiring his geranirmis. 
 
 She describes how she and my sister went to 
 spend the afternoon with an old lady in the Close, 
 and played cards for counters, which at the end 
 were exchanged for money. They came away with 
 sixpence in coppers between them, horrified at the 
 wickedness of having won money at cards, but far 
 too shy to refuse to take it. They finally decided 
 that they would put it all into the offertory, and so 
 purge their guilt. 
 
 I have two tiny recollections of her at this time. 
 One was when I went with her and my elder sister 
 to an evening children's party. We were late, and 
 were shown into a room where a kindly governess 
 was dispensing tea ; but all the other guests had 
 finished, and departed to games. We were given 
 tea and cake, and then the awful solemnity and 
 politeness of the whole thing dawned upon us ; I 
 saw my elder sister crimson suddenly, and then 
 begin to laugh ; I joined in, to the consternation 
 and discomfiture of the governess ; when we had 
 at last conquered our hysterics, which had been 
 accompanied all the time, quite sincerely, by a 
 deep sense of rudeness and shame, Maggie took her 
 turn, and laughed longer and louder and more 
 helplessly than either of us. We got away somehow, 
 and had a very earnest conversation on our return 
 about our own discourtesy. " If only I could have 
 
 explained to Miss D ," I remember Nelly saying, 
 
 " that I wasn't laughing at her ! " 
 
 Again I remember how Maggie and I walked over 
 
 22
 
 Pholo by R. Slingsby, Lincoln.] 
 
 Nellie. Maggie. 
 
 Aged 13. Aged 11. 
 
 1876. At Lincoln. [To face page 22.
 
 LINCOLN 
 
 to Riseholme, the Bishop's palace, where there was 
 a big lake, on a summer's day, to fish. We were 
 allowed to use the boat, and we floated about all 
 day in the blazing sun, over the clear shallow lake, 
 looking down into translucent spaces of sun-warmed 
 water, where big pike lay basking and asleep, and 
 wide tracts of matted weed. We landed on the 
 island for our lunch, secured an abandoned and very 
 malodorous swan's egg from a deserted nest, and 
 fished at intervals in vain. About five o'clock we 
 gave it up, and were going off with our empty basket, 
 when the old gardener came down to feed the ducks, 
 and condoled with us on our ill-success. He threw 
 a quantity of food into the shallow water by the 
 edge of the bank, and the ducks churned it all into 
 mud and foam. He then departed, when Maggie 
 pointed out to me curious swirls and eddies in the 
 muddy water, and said she thought they were fish. 
 We hastily put our rods together, and in ten minutes 
 we caught half-a-dozen really big roach, the greater 
 number falling to her rod. Oh, the delicious triumph 
 of that moment ! We walked home in the dusk, 
 tired and hot, but in the seventh heaven of delight 
 at our good fortune ; and I can still remember my 
 father's gallant attempt the next morning to swallow 
 some fragments of the very muddy-flavoured fish, 
 while Maggie and I worked through our shares, and 
 as the old books say " pronounced them excellent." 
 
 She was then, as always, a good comrade, good- 
 natured, ungrumbling, willing to fall in enthusi- 
 astically with any plan. 
 
 My elder brother and myself got scholarships at 
 Winchester and Eton respectively in 1874. I was 
 the first to arrive at home, and wc arranged a 
 
 23
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 pageant to welcome my brother on his arrival, in 
 which I remember that Nelly and Maggie, arrayed 
 in College caps and old gowns of my father's, repre- 
 sented the respective Headmasters of Eton and 
 Winchester. We met my brother at our front door, 
 and conducted him, bewildered but gratified, in 
 procession to the drawing-room. 
 
 I can find no letters of hers at this time ; we were 
 all together, well and happy ; strangely enough, in 
 the last year of her life she reminded me that in one 
 of my school-terms, I did not answer her letters, 
 and she consulted my mother as to what she should 
 do. " If he won't write to you," said my mother 
 cheerfully' " don't write to him ! " — and she told 
 me then that though this had happened forty years 
 before, she was always remorseful that she had 
 taken the advice. 
 
 She was then at this time a silent shy girl, afraid 
 of publicity, often feeling awkward, easily abashed, 
 lacking in initiative, with little hopes and fancies 
 and ambitions, which she could not express either 
 in deed or word, and though interested in her school 
 work, glad to be at home again among familiar and 
 trusted surroundings ; modest and quiet, but with 
 her own way of doing things, and her own quiet 
 opinion about all matters in which she was concerned. 
 
 24
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 TRURO 
 
 At the end of 1876, Maggie being then eleven, 
 my father was offered the newly-formed See of 
 Truro. An income was provided, but no house. 
 Eventually the Vicarage of the extensive and 
 formerly wealthy parish of Kenwyn adjacent to 
 Truro was obtained for the See, It was really more 
 like a small country house than a Vicarage. Its 
 glebe of some fifteen acres was planted like a little 
 park, and the house stood in a stately way, a com- 
 pact stone Georgian mansion, with pleasant gardens 
 behind. It was a very lovely place ; it looked down 
 upon the town of Truro, with the smoke going up 
 above the clustered roofs, spanned by the two 
 extremely picturesque timber viaducts of the Great 
 Western Railway. Beyond the town the estuary 
 lay, a shining water among low green wooded heights. 
 To the East the quiet valley of Idless ran far into 
 the hills, with its clear rippling streams, little stony 
 tracks coming down from upland farms, bits of 
 waste and wild woodland. 
 
 We settled there in 1877, and the home life was 
 vivid and happy. My father used to go off on 
 Confirmation tours, but he kept the holidays free 
 both from engagements and also from visitors, and 
 
 25
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 we mainly depended upon ourselves for com- 
 panionship. 
 
 The settling in was a time of delicious excite- 
 ment for us all. My father had hitherto taken very 
 little part in public affairs, and the sense of grandeur 
 that he should be made a Bishop sent an agreeable 
 ripple through the family life. I find a letter written 
 by my sister Nelly to her godmother, Miss Wicken- 
 den, on the subject, which gives a lively picture of 
 our feelings. 
 
 The Chancery, Lincolo, 
 1876. 
 
 We have had such fun reading the reports of 
 papa in the newspaper, one says he is " a stout and 
 hearty-looking man of the medium height," another 
 " that he has a thin intellectual looking face, and is 
 above the middle height by a good deal " — another 
 that " he is the very model of a handsome English- 
 man ! " Another that " his desire for the good of 
 the masses and his mixing among the working- 
 classes were qualities equally shared by Mrs. Ben- 
 son ! " Good-bye now. 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 M. E. Benson. 
 
 A High School for Girls was one of the first things 
 my father established at Truro ; he was always a 
 strong supporter of all movements for the education 
 of women. Nelly and Maggie began to attend the 
 High School at once, under the careful and sym- 
 pathetic supervision of Miss Key, the first head- 
 mistress. Here is a letter of Maggie's about the 
 new interests. 
 
 26
 
 TRURO 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Kenwyn, Truro. 
 (1877-) 
 
 We went a walk with Papa yesterday and went 
 down and saw the cathedral. We met Mr. Hardy 
 in the town and he came and brought the great 
 brown dog of Mrs. Gardiner's, and consequently 
 Watch * growled most of the way and they had one 
 or two quarrels over a stick. 
 
 Mummy f has laid three more eggs, I think 
 I shall change her name to Buttercup. Thersis f 
 still sits all day long on nothing and pecks my 
 fingers if I stroke her. 
 
 Nellie has got a perfect mania on for literature. 
 Miss Key talked to her about Johnstone J on Wed- 
 nesday after Algebra till she was perfectly wild 
 about him. 
 
 Maggie was always devoted to animals, and the 
 various pets became a matter of deep concern. 
 There was a friendly goat, who used to accompany 
 us on our walks, under the vigilant charge of Watch, 
 who shepherded her, and kept her from loitering. A 
 great dynasty of guinea-pigs was established, with 
 the strangest names, Atahualpa, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Fenwick, Edith Mitchinson (a Lincoln school-friend) 
 and many others. The one advantage of the guinea- 
 pig as a pet is that it forms and conciliates no 
 
 * The family collie. f Canaries. J Dr. Johnson. 
 
 27
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 personal attachments, so that its loss or death can 
 evoke no deep emotion. Here is a letter of Maggie's 
 on the guinea-pig question. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Kenwyn, Truro. 
 
 Edith Mitchinson has had 3 more. 
 
 I shall call these guinea-pigs Lady Victoria, 
 Lady Blanche, and Lady Edith. If any of them 
 turn out to be males I shall call them Lord Victoria, 
 etc. 
 
 But from this time Maggie's friendships with her 
 school friends became a serious concern in her life. 
 Miss Maud Furniss, who was with her at school in 
 Truro, says that if you were a friend of hers, you 
 were bound to be intimate. " Her friends were a 
 part of herself ; she cared as much about their 
 interests as about her own." She adds, " I got into 
 the habit, when I was walking alone, of talking to 
 her and telling her things, as if she were there, and 
 pointing out beautiful things to her " ; and she 
 sends me an interesting little story of the school- 
 days, which shows that Maggie, for all her shyness 
 and sensitiveness, was capable of taking a line of 
 her own. 
 
 " There is one incident that I have always 
 remembered from the Truro days. It is character- 
 istic of Maggie. I had been given a bad-conduct 
 mark for flicking my pen at another girl — and her 
 
 28
 
 TRURO 
 
 pinafore got inked in consequence. I was very 
 angry — and so were my friends, and a petition was 
 handed to Miss Key asking her to take oft" the mark. 
 I believe every girl in the school— except Maggie — 
 signed it — everyone of any age, that is. I forget 
 now her reasons, but I know I didn't feel any resent- 
 ment, for it seemed somehow natural. She thought 
 the mark was justified — and I think the rest of us 
 didn't consider it on its own merits at all." 
 
 My mother writes — 
 
 " Maggie's relation to younger girls was very 
 delightful, it was not so much motherly as elder- 
 sisterly — and the little girls adored her. One day 
 at Kenwyn, I heard Maggie playing on the piano in 
 the School Room. This being unusual, I looked 
 in. A little girl was lying on the sofa in wild weeping. 
 Maggie told me afterwards that the tears were in 
 consequence of a sudden fear the little girl had had 
 that Maggie would go to College, that she should 
 never see her again, and that Maggie would forget 
 all about her — quite a * Clever Alice ! ' — and 
 Maggie thought the piano might be useful to tran- 
 quillise the child." 
 
 Mrs. Shirley {nee Tweedy) writes — 
 
 " Maggie did everything for me in my early days 
 and was my ideal for all my early girlhood. She 
 helped me out of all my scrapes, and with infinite 
 tact and understanding made me see the beauty 
 of goodness and religion, when before it had all 
 seemed to me a dreary duty. I think it was her 
 
 29
 
 MAGGIE BENSON • 
 
 keen and delightful sense of humour which made 
 her attractive to so many. When I think of her 
 now, as I often do, I always see that wonderful 
 smile that began in her eyes and ended in that 
 characteristic turn of the mouth." 
 
 Another school friend of hers, Angela Symons, 
 now Mrs. Shuttleworth, writes — 
 
 " My recollections of your sister are mostly con- 
 nected with the old Truro days ; it was a very 
 happy time, and Maggie had much to do with that 
 happiness. Indeed, as I look back, I see how her 
 figure stands out in an atmosphere almost entirely 
 connected with laughter and gladness, and the 
 general fun of things that belong to youth. 
 
 " But personal sayings and reminiscences in 
 which she played a principal part are not many, 
 and in saying that I give the strongest evidence of 
 what I feel most about her character — its simplicity 
 and its reserve. 
 
 " I think, considering how clever she was, and 
 how surrounded she was by an atmosphere of 
 educated brains, it is the more astonishing that she 
 never by word or deed made one feel the least bit 
 small, or even at a disadvantage. On the contrary, 
 I can recall one little incident, when she made one's 
 very foolishness seem cleverness ! That was largely 
 due to her delicious and never-failing sense of 
 humour. 
 
 " It was in class at Strangways Terrace. We 
 had been given a new and, as I thought, very objec- 
 tionable kind of exercise in arithmetic to do at home. 
 I never had any gift for ' sums,' but considered 
 myself rather clever at having worked out a very 
 
 30
 
 TRURO 
 
 long one which ran into millions in the answer. 
 I was the first to read out the result, and did so 
 triumphantly. Miss Key, without turning a hair, 
 then asked Maggie, who was next to me, for her 
 solution. It was i, and it was right ! There was 
 much merriment, of course, and I was saved any 
 distress by Maggie's delight at the fun of it. Her 
 desire to know how I arrived at such vast figures, 
 where she had merely achieved i — partook of the 
 nature of a compliment, and made me ultimately 
 feel that I had been more successful than she ! 
 I can see her now quite plainly as she was on that 
 day, wearing a speckly bluey-green cotton frock, 
 without much waist-line (she always said I had 
 too much), her hair tightly brushed back, and 
 shining, a silver cross and chain around her neck, 
 and I can hear her laughter coming in little gurgles 
 of delight, and her quiet gentle voice, with its 
 suspicion of breathlessness, and the rs that would 
 not roll ! She was so incapable of anything mean, 
 even in her thoughts, that she drew out quite 
 unconsciously the better side of the girls. The 
 light was so strong that there could be no dark 
 places. 
 
 " I can remember only one thing she actually 
 said. We were arguing about Browning and Long- 
 fellow ! She made great fun of Longfellow, and 
 asked me to explain what sense there was in speaking 
 of ' Footprints on the sands of time,' since the 
 next tide would wash them out ? 
 
 My mother adds — 
 
 " In the Truro days, Maggie was already a great 
 lover of Browning — so was I, but I often had to 
 
 31
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 go to her on difficult passages — her mind was so 
 subtle, and she never failed to convince me." 
 
 Miss Maud Furniss writes — 
 
 " Maggie was always very keen on people doing 
 things together. She believed in the virtue of 
 ' Societies.' I remember in the early days at 
 school she formed an ' Anti- Slang ' Society. We 
 wore badges with the motto ' Manners Maketh 
 Man.' I don't think the Society lived very long — 
 and I don't remember that it achieved much. 
 Perhaps that was because, at the same time, Nelly 
 formed a ' Slang ' Society, the members of which 
 had to say ' awfully ' or some other slang word so 
 many times a day. But this social sense of masses 
 entered into more serious questions later — I remember 
 once, a great many years after, in London, that 
 I was just going down to some friends at Bisham for 
 a week-end, and I had fixed to go by a train that 
 would get me there in time for luncheon. I had 
 at that time given up going to Church — we had 
 been talking, and I remember I said I could not see 
 that ' worship ' implied going to Church ; Maggie 
 insisted on the good of doing things with other 
 people, and said ' You see, Maud, you are going 
 down to be in time to have luncheon with the 
 others.' 
 
 " Maggie always wanted to know her friend's 
 friends — she also wanted all her friends to know 
 one another. She always wrote of them by their 
 Christian names and often sent on their letters — 
 this wasn't any breach of confidence — and she said 
 once I remember, that what mattered was knowing 
 that other people knew about oneself, not the mere 
 
 32
 
 TRURO 
 
 fact of their knowing. That might be a dangerous 
 principle unless the person who held it was wise 
 and careful — and Maggie never told me anything 
 her friends would have wished not known, but only 
 what made me realise them more and better." 
 Here are bits of letters about her doings : — 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Kenwyn, Truro, 
 
 (1880 or 1S81.) 
 
 Agnes and I went to Miss Key's At Home on 
 Monday. On our way back we got into heroics 
 again, viz., the ideal of a hero. Her ideal is someone 
 with a manly stride and a flash in his eye, and a 
 quick temper, etc. I think it is going to rain. 
 Hurrah ! they won't have cricket at school. 
 
 The next is a little satire on one of her friends 
 who was fond of using inverted commas and of 
 underlining quite unemphatic words : — 
 
 [To her Mother.) 
 
 Lis Escop, Truro. 
 
 Dearest " Mother," 
 
 Everything is " allright " here. I hope this 
 is the right thing to do about your " letters " but I 
 " know " I'm " bound " as Maclean* says to do 
 something " wrong." 
 
 Isn't this " like Alice W " I don't know how 
 
 to " spell " that. 
 
 Your most loving " daughter," 
 
 M. " Benson." 
 
 * The coachman. 
 
 33 D
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 It was now that she formed a close companion- 
 ship with my brother Fred, which lasted to the end. 
 They often travelled together in later days, and 
 though very different in temperament had a mutual 
 understanding which no divergence of view could 
 disturb. My brother Fred writes— 
 
 " When we were quite small we used to tell each 
 other endless stories of exciting adventure which 
 was to happen to us. She and I and Watch were 
 the actors in these. There were great explorations, 
 deadly perils at the claws of wild beasts and always 
 discoveries of treasures, large diamonds and so 
 forth." 
 
 In a little book, " Six Common Things," my 
 brother wrote in full detail the account of one of 
 their adventures. The story reproduces so closely' 
 and vividly the atmosphere of the Truro days that 
 I quote it here — 
 
 " The next great joy was the aquarium. Measured 
 by the limitations of actual space and cubic contents, 
 the capacities of the aquarium were not large, for 
 it was only a brown earthenware bowl with a 
 diameter of about eighteen inches ; but its poten- 
 tialities were infinite. We had even dim ideas of 
 rearing a salmon parr in it. 
 
 " The happy hunting-ground, from which the 
 treasures of the aquarium were drawn, was a little 
 stream that ran swiftly over gravelly soil about 
 half-a-mile from our house. On each side of it 
 stretched low-lying water meadows, rich with rag- 
 wort and meadow-sweet, among which one day we 
 found a lark's nest. Every now and then the stream 
 
 34
 
 TRURO 
 
 spread out into shallow tranquil pools, overhung by 
 thick angular hawthorns. Sticklebacks made their 
 nests under the banks ; small trout flashed through 
 the clear shallows, and the caddis-worms collected 
 the small twigs which fell from the trees, and made 
 of them the rafters of their houses. 
 
 "It was by such pools as these that we spent 
 hours dabbling in the stream and filling small tin 
 cans with water-snails and caddises, for subsequent 
 transference to the aquarium . . . and here one 
 evening we caught a stickleback. It was my 
 sister's doing, but I considered then, and consider 
 still, that the credit was as much mine as hers. 
 
 " It was this way : she had been poking our net 
 as usual among the debris that lay in the backwater 
 of the pool, and had found four caddises and two 
 water-snails, one of which was a new sort. She had 
 just said, ' That's all,' and was preparing to throw 
 the rest back into the stream, when I saw something 
 move at the bottom of the net, and there among 
 the dead leaves and twigs lay a live stickleback. 
 That night, the aquarium, which usually lived in an 
 empty coach-house, was moved solemnly up to the 
 nursery. The idea of Gray's cat and the gold-fish 
 was too strong for us : besides, if the cat did get 
 at our stickleback, the aquarium would not be deep 
 enough to drown it ; and in any case the nervous 
 shock to the stickleback might be fatal. 
 
 " The aquarium was paved with pieces of spar 
 which we had picked up at Torquay the year before, 
 and bright smooth sea-pebbles. I am afraid the 
 caddises would have preferred a little wholesome 
 mud, but that was not to be thought of. Round 
 
 35
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 the edge crept the water-snails, and the caddis- 
 worms hid among the spar and pebbles, and walked 
 over each other, with a fine disregard of the laws 
 of politeness. But the king of our water-world was 
 the stickleback : it is a very common fish, but to us 
 there was only one, and that one was ours. 
 
 " Every other day the aquarium used to be 
 emptied out and fresh water was put in. This 
 operation required some delicacy of handling. The 
 water was strained through a very narrow piece of 
 netting into the little drain outside the coach-house. 
 Snails, caddis-worms, and stickleback were caught 
 in the netting, and instantly placed in a temporary 
 hotel, in the shape of an old washing-basin, filled 
 with water. 
 
 " It was during one of these cleanings out that 
 the great catastrophe happened. The stickleback, 
 according to custom, was swimming fiercely and 
 defiantly round the sinking water in the aquarium. 
 He would always do this till there was scarcely any 
 left, then make a sudden rush against the netting 
 and try to swim through it, a feat which he never 
 accomplished, but which he never perceived was 
 impossible. How it happened I do not quite know ; 
 something caused me to let the water out less dis- 
 creetly'' than usual ; the last pint came with a sudden 
 rush, and my sister, who was holding the netting, 
 dropped one corner of it. At this moment the 
 stickleback charged, and for once passed the netting, 
 and the next moment the flow of water had carried 
 him down the drain. 
 
 " For a space we sat silent, and then my sister 
 said, with a curious tone in her voice which I had 
 
 36
 
 TRURO 
 
 never heard before, but which I now associate with 
 other griefs which we have been through together, 
 ' It is gone.' 
 
 " We silently placed the netting with the caddis- 
 worms and water-snails in the basin, and extracted 
 the tadpoles from the spar. We had not got the 
 heart to arrange and clean out the aquarium, and 
 it lay there empty, with the spar and pebbles 
 scattered over the cobbled yard. 
 
 " Later in the morning we came back again, and 
 arranged it as usual. As our heads were bent 
 together over it, while we placed the pebbles at the 
 bottom, I saw two large tears roll from her eyes 
 on to the red earthenware rim of the bowl, and 
 when we had finished, we both looked at the little 
 drain-hole where the sticldeback had vanished, and 
 our eyes met. We had not spoken about it since 
 she said ' It is gone.' 
 
 " ' I am so sorry,' she whispered, ' oh, why did 
 I let go of the net ? ' and another tear ran down her 
 cheek. 
 
 " * Don't mind so much,' I said, ' it was more 
 my fault than yours. Something jogged my 
 elbow.' 
 
 " But we never caught another stickleback." 
 
 All this time Maggie's mind was slowly maturing ; 
 but she was still very diffident, and averse to putting 
 herself forward in any way. It is a strange and 
 disconcerting factor in the young — and particularly 
 perhaps in those of more than usual thoughtfulness 
 and originality — that they cannot get relief, they 
 cannot expose the process of their thoughts, nuich 
 less the thought itself, of which they arc half-proud 
 
 37
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 and half -afraid. There was a strong religious im- 
 pulse running through the Truro life. My father 
 had arrived upon the scene, among those quick- 
 thinking, sensitive Cornish folk, not long after a 
 great mission at Lincoln, with a deep consciousness 
 of spiritual forces, and a desire to give them more 
 natural and simple expression than had hitherto 
 been possible. As a schoolmaster, though he spoke 
 out his hopes and thoughts plainly and emphatically 
 enough in sermons, he had practised reticence about 
 talking directly on spiritual matters. But at the 
 time of the mission he had come across a different 
 type of religion, something more outspoken and frank, 
 and the friendship which he formed at Truro with 
 G. H. Wilkinson, who was afterwards to succeed 
 him as Bishop, revealed to him that religious things 
 could be spoken of in ordinary social life without 
 affectation or incongruity. The result of this was 
 that he was at once acclaimed in Cornwall as a 
 " converted man." The young clergy too, whom 
 he brought with him, Arthur Mason, John Reeve, 
 G. H. Whitaker, F. E. Carter, G. H. S. Walpole, and 
 others, were all full of enthusiasm and eagerness, so 
 that Wilkinson said later that the life of those early 
 Truro years was more like primitive Christianity, 
 like scenes from the Acts of the Apostles, than any- 
 thing else he had ever seen. And in the background 
 was the delightful Cornish mind, so welcoming and 
 responsive, restless as a bird. " I can make them 
 laugh, I can make them cry," as an eloquent Parlia- 
 mentary canvasser said, " I can't make them vote." 
 My father used to say that the Cornishman whom 
 you met in the road expected a smile, a word about 
 the weather, a word about God. But my father 
 
 38
 
 TRURO 
 
 never gained the natural Evangelical accent of 
 religion — and I am glad in one way that though 
 he could and did talk, eagerly and deeply, about 
 religion, when he was moved, we did not as children 
 grow accustomed to the constant urging of religious 
 motives. Religion was close at hand and all about 
 us ; but it did not flow into common talk. 
 
 Maggie learned in those days a great love of 
 religious observance ; later on, when she was 
 travelling about .the world, man}/ of her letters 
 contain the expression of her dislike of the neglect 
 of Sunday, and the making it into an ordinary day, 
 while throughout her long sad illness she always 
 observed it scrupulously. My father was obviously 
 happiest on Sundays — a peculiar brightness radiated 
 from him. He put all his secular work aside, and he 
 liked a certain quiet tone of talk. We went to two 
 or even three services ; there were prayers as well 
 in the chapel, Bible-reading, and a slow family stroll, 
 during which my father often read aloud and dis- 
 cussed a poem of George Herbert's. Some of the 
 younger clergy generally came in to supper on that 
 day, and the talk was free and mirthful, with a 
 peculiar quality which I have never heard in any 
 other place. It sounds dull to call it ecclesiastical ; 
 but it centred, unaffectedly and appropriately, about 
 ecclesiastical things, and was intensely stimulating 
 from its eagerness and gaiety and spontaneity. I 
 did not realise at the time how unusual it was or 
 how vivid. But all the circle were of one mind, 
 though differing much in temperament. Arthur 
 Mason's talk was radiant with quaint and delicious 
 humour, and his clear soft vigorous laughter was 
 very infectious. John Reeve was full of pleasant 
 
 39
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 extravagance and ecstasy ; but my father in his 
 quickness, his allusiveness, his humorous exaggera- 
 tion, his emphasis, was the undoubted leader and 
 arbiter of it all. 
 
 In all this we children had our full share. We 
 were encouraged to take part. It was a quiet life 
 in a way ; we did not see much of other households. 
 But there were plenty of pleasant excursions, into 
 remote woodlands, or to the beautiful Cornish coast, 
 with its crag-pinnacles and rock-arches, and the 
 Atlantic waves marching in, visits to solitary churches, 
 or old houses hidden among secluded valleys. We 
 had too our own games, societies, mysterious ob- 
 servances, acting, a holiday magazine, sketching — 
 a life full of happy and generous stimulus, with 
 much that was serious and thoughtful in the back- 
 ground, not unduly emphasised. The result was that 
 we all grew up in our own way, neither starved in 
 mind, nor fussed over, nor closely directed. 
 
 In 1878 came the first great sorrow, the death 
 of my eldest brother, Martin, a boy of extraordinary 
 power and promise, then at Winchester. It was a 
 terrible shock to my father, and it was impossible 
 not to be aware of the ravages of his grief ; but for 
 all that it drew us closely together : it was unhappily 
 clear that my brother's death was in part due to 
 precocious mental development ; and it gave my 
 father a horror of any sort of pressure, and a tender 
 desire to subordinate everything to our free happi- 
 ness, which I think bore much fruit in our lives. 
 
 The years passed on swiftly, and Hugh, as he 
 grew older, petulant, wilful, full of originality, fitful, 
 independent, began to take his own place. My 
 sisters used to do some work with him, and it was 
 
 40
 
 TRURO 
 
 no sinecure ! Here is a scrap of the period about 
 his doings — 
 
 {From M. E. Benson to A. C. Benson.) 
 
 Lis Escop, Tniro, 
 
 July lo, 1881. 
 
 Hugh has a frightful craze for inventing murder- 
 ous instruments. He has invented one guillotine 
 and two guns. Opposite one of the guns is written 
 " Certain Death if fired." He has extracted a 
 promise from Mamma that if he can make a gun 
 which answers this description, he may fire at 
 anybody and anything he likes. I don't think he 
 found much difficulty in having his request granted. 
 He says it is the simplest thing in the world to make 
 his gun. It consists chiefly of leaden pipes and 
 brass screws. 
 
 Here again is a letter of Maggie's giving a glimpse 
 of home doings and responsibilities — 
 
 {To her Mother. ) 
 
 (1882.) 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 Papa came home all right last night, only 
 the train was nearly an hour late, and he was not 
 home till nearly 9.30, so I did not go to bed till 
 past 10.15. 
 
 Miss Bramston came up yesterday, did you ask 
 her after all to come up every day ? She always 
 does and she is awfully kind. 
 
 41
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 Papa had 25 letters waiting for him when he 
 came home yesterday — his letters average I think 
 I2| about. 
 
 I quite forgot that I should have to play the 
 hymn at prayers until Papa asked me when we 
 were going to the Chapel what hymn I could play. 
 It altogether went out of my head that it was 
 Whitsunday, so I played " O God of Hosts, the 
 Mighty Lord," wasn't it appropriate ? Then I 
 didn't know how to manage the stops so I pulled 
 out Open Diapason and Dulciana and stuck to 
 them all through. However to my comfort Papa 
 told me afterwards that I had played it all right. 
 
 Papa said something about my presiding at 
 dinner to-morrow ! I half thought then that he 
 was in joke but I am not at all sure, I must ask 
 him ! ! ! ! ! Papa thought you might perhaps 
 hear of a cook at Clevedon, he told me to ask you 
 to look out for one. 
 
 Best love to Hugh, 
 
 Your most loving daughter, 
 
 M. Benson. 
 
 Papa is very well I think (only a little tired), 
 and so am I. 
 
 The end of the Truro time came with a great 
 unexpectedness. Archbishop Tait had shortly be- 
 fore paid us a visit. His majestic appearance, the 
 slowness of his movements, his kindly dignity, made 
 a deep impression on the younger members of the 
 family. He was received more like a prince than 
 a prelate. He made firm friends with my father, 
 though their ecclesiastical views were very different. 
 
 42
 
 TRURO 
 
 When he died, in November 1882, Bishop Harold 
 Browne of Winchester was thought too old and 
 infirm to succeed him. Dean Church was sounded 
 as to his willingness to accept the Archbishopric, 
 but more perhaps as a recognition of his wisdom, 
 and the beauty of his character. He gave a decisive 
 reply, and about Christmas-time my father was 
 offered the post. He called us children into his 
 study, and with great gravity and a noticeable 
 pallor, told us what had happened. It was soon 
 accepted, and early in 1883 the move was made. 
 
 43
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 LADY MARGARET HALL 
 
 In 1883 Maggie was eighteen. Nelly had been 
 already for two years at Lady Margaret Hall at 
 Oxford, under Miss Wordsworth, where she had 
 read Mathematics and English Literature, It was 
 felt that one of the daughters was now wanted at 
 home to help in the constant hospitalities and 
 intricate life of Lambeth and Addington. 
 
 Accordingly Nelly was recalled from Oxford, 
 where her health had not been good, and Maggie 
 took her place there. 
 
 She writes from Cornwall, where she had gone 
 to the seaside with a party of friends, about her 
 future studies at Oxford. 
 
 Prospect House, Newquay. 
 (1883.) 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 You don't know what it was to get that 
 letter from you ; it seemed somehow to take pos- 
 session of me altogether, and I thought of you 
 until I quite felt you near that night. 
 
 I will write to you when I have talked to Miss 
 Key again. I really don't know enough what it 
 would involve at present. I should certainly like 
 
 44
 
 Photo by Frcdk. Argall, Tnou.] 
 
 Maggie. 
 Aged about 17. 
 
 [To face page 44 •
 
 LADY MARGARET HALL 
 
 to take up Logic and Pol. Econ. Heaps and heaps 
 better than anything else — another thing about mj^ 
 lessons — Miss Key wants me to leave off French and 
 German this term and do only Mathematics and 
 Latin. May I, if I happen to squeeze through that 
 old Prelim., which isn't very likely, I am afraid ? 
 
 We are having such fun here, and are behaving 
 in a perfectly wild way in some things. Nobody is 
 in time for anything ; it is awfully nice for a change, 
 and Miss Bramston and Miss Hedley are frightfully 
 forbearing and never bother about anything. 
 
 I am getting to like A B awfully — but 
 
 I am not quite sure whether you would ; I think you 
 couldn't help it if you knew her really. I know 
 Nellie would hate her. 
 
 My darling Mother, I am afraid I altogether fail 
 to see the simplification that would ensue on your 
 death. What do you mean ? I can't see one atom 
 of meaning of any sort or kind, true or untrue 
 in it. 
 
 I wish I could come up to London for a few days. 
 O Mother, DO comedown here just for a bit. Wouldn't 
 it do you good ? it would set j^ou up for the rest of 
 the season I know. Can't you come for a little bit ? 
 How scrumptious it will be to have Nellie down here ! 
 When will she come ? It will be d'licious. 
 
 Do you know what we are going to to-night ? A 
 phrenologist's lecture, in which, among others, a 
 diagram of Papa's head will be exhibited and 
 lectured on. Won't it be a joke ? I will tell you 
 what qualities good and bad he has got. The day 
 is just clearing up, at which everybody is groaning. 
 For the last hour we have been sitting round the 
 table writing notes to each other and letters to other 
 
 45
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 people. I am in correspondence with A at 
 
 present. 
 
 Some of the girls are going to bathe this morning. 
 I am not. 
 
 Your lovingest child, 
 
 Margaret Benson. 
 
 Up till now she had been a tall, slim, quiet girl, 
 keeping her thoughts much to herself, diffident in 
 action and speech, always ready to sympathise if 
 called upon, and affectionate, but with somewhat 
 solitary interests. Indeed, Nelly said of her at this 
 time a little impatiently that if Maggie would only 
 have an intimate relationship even with a cat, it 
 would be a relief. Maggie, however, went her own 
 way with a considerable fund of steady perse- 
 verance. For instance, it was then that her artistic 
 powers had gone slowly ahead of my sister Nelly's, 
 and her sketching in water-colour came to have 
 much beauty and distinction. But her gifts were 
 not facile or showy at any time. Now, however, 
 with the stimulus of higher work and kindred 
 companionship, her powers rapidly matured. 
 
 At Oxford, she took up political economy and 
 moral science, and found that she could grasp and 
 master intricate and abstruse subjects with serene 
 ease. Moreover her friendships, which had been 
 hitherto gentle and secret devotions, now became 
 a main interest in her life. She had a great power 
 of idealisation, too great perhaps for her happiness, 
 and found herself irresistibly drawn to many of 
 her companions. She discovered that she could 
 hold her own in talk and discussion with quickness 
 and readiness, could see a point and express it, and 
 
 46
 
 LADY MARGARET HALL 
 
 even demolish an opponent by a gentle and luminous 
 irony. It was thus a time of extraordinary happiness 
 for her, a happiness which overflowed into all she 
 said or wrote. 
 
 It is wonderful to me to read the testimonies 
 I have received from many of her College friends, 
 and to realise how the life of the little society 
 gradually centred round her. Her charm consisted 
 in her perfect simplicity ; she accepted her com- 
 panions on their own merits, just as they chose to 
 show themselves to her ; she did not desire to be 
 popular or distinguished, nor did she choose her 
 friends on these grounds ; she just wished to love 
 and to be loved, and no appeal to her affections was 
 ever made in vain ; at the same time she was in 
 her quiet way vivacious, full of interest in innumer- 
 able problems, fond of discussion, and both clear 
 and discriminating in argument. She was deeply 
 emotional, but thoroughly disliked mere sentiment. 
 Her friendships were seldom merely irrational admira- 
 tions, but intelligent and critical companionships. 
 
 Miss Bartlett says — 
 
 " Her whole attitude of mind and endless sym- 
 pathy gave interest and charm to her conversation 
 on the simplest subjects, and made the discussion of 
 more difficult ones intelligible and inspiring. She 
 was so wonderfully quick in grasping other people's 
 mental difficulties, and so clear and convincing in 
 explaining them, whether in private conversation 
 or at lectures and classes. 
 
 " I remember how a friend once said to her 
 that she ' put soul even into Political Economy,' and 
 
 47
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 Maggie replied, ' There is soul in it already.' That 
 saying seems to sum up what she was in herself 
 and to her friends better than anything else one 
 could say." 
 
 Mrs. Courtney writes — 
 
 " What I most vividly remember about Maggie 
 was her genius for friendship. She had the most 
 intense interest in other people's personalities and 
 points of view. We often took walks together, and 
 our conversation turned nearly always on problems 
 of life and character, as illustrated by our con- 
 temporaries and our * authorities.' 
 
 " One little incident stands out clearly in my 
 memory. In our last term there together, my first 
 summer term, we were walking one lovely evening 
 in the parks, and I said something about the loveli- 
 ness of Oxford in June and how it made all life a 
 joy. Maggie pressed me with questions as to why 
 I so enjoyed it all, and I said I didn't know, I just 
 felt like that. Whereupon she said, * I don't under- 
 stand your being contented just to enjoy. I always 
 want to know why I enjoy.' It was a saying 
 intensely characteristic of her introspective, analytic 
 habit of mind, and I never forgot it." 
 
 Miss Beatrice Layman writes — 
 
 " At Lady Margaret Hall, Maggie was the life 
 of all the Societies, serious and frivolous, of the 
 Shakespeare and Browning Reading Circles, of the 
 Sunodos, which was an informal debating society. 
 She was a reluctant member of the M.A.S. or Mutual 
 Admiration Society, which consisted of a few of 
 
 48
 
 LADY MARGARET HALL 
 
 those more exclusively attached to one another, 
 and Maggie used to say in a complaining voice, 
 ' Can't I be allowed to make a new friend ? ' She 
 could not be induced to become a member of the 
 Society for the Cultivation of Graceful Leisure, as 
 its rules were too stringent — but she was extra- 
 ordinarily keen about all sorts of games, such as 
 cricket, and hockey on the tennis lawn. She was 
 Stage Manager of our amateur theatricals — was 
 inimitable as Mrs. Gruffanuff and made a splendid 
 Romeo. She enjoyed ridiculous games, in which 
 we likened one another to flowers and animals, and 
 she entered with zest into ' Storming the Passages ' 
 and other entertainments so violent that we were 
 reported to the authorities, but we always felt quite 
 comfortable as long as Maggie was amongst us ; 
 while she gave an added ' respectability ' when we 
 had to get permission from the Council for such new 
 and at the time ' unfeminine ' things as Boating 
 and Hockey. She was indefatigable in trying to 
 learn to swim in order to qualify for the Boating 
 test. 
 
 " The photograph I send was taken on a so-called 
 Reading Party — and I think it is an abiding reminder 
 of the value we placed on Maggie's company, as in 
 order to secure that we had to have the grave and 
 dignified lady in the left corner as a chaperon. We 
 others were allowed to go alone, but Maggie wasn't." 
 
 The point of the scene was that every one was 
 to be represented as doing what she could not 
 do : Maggie was never a musician, and still less a 
 soloist ! 
 
 49
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 Miss Holmes writes — 
 
 " When we were at Lady Margaret Hall, Mr. 
 Ruskin paid us a visit and stayed to tea. At that 
 time he was fond of complaining of the luxurious 
 rooms of students generally — too many armchairs, 
 etc., etc. He gave us an idea of what he would 
 have us taught — and then said : ' But lirst of all 
 I would have you taught common-sense.' In her 
 very quiet voice Maggie said, ' And how would you 
 begin ? ' and Mr. Ruskin said, ' My dear young 
 lady, I cannot tell you ! ' " 
 
 Miss E. F. Jourdain writes — 
 
 " I first met Maggie in October, 1883, when we 
 both came up as students to Lady Margaret Hall, 
 Oxford. She was then a tall, somewhat angular 
 girl, with a good deal of eager graciousness about 
 her. She had a mobile mouth, a very fresh laugh, 
 and what perhaps struck us most, a great love for 
 discussion on many subjects. 
 
 " As a student she rather lived on her nerves : 
 her friendships meant a very great deal to her and 
 used up her strength. 
 
 " Looking back, I can quite understand the home 
 anxiety that dictated letters of advice to Maggie 
 about sleep and food and tonics, for even with the 
 utmost care she was apt to be easily overdone, 
 chiefly because she invariably put so much force 
 and feeling into what she did. She became the 
 oracle of our party of students, and her influence 
 was most healthy, for she looked upon all girls 
 as interesting, and took them as they were apart 
 from accidents of birth and ability. She got great 
 
 50
 
 LADY IVIARGARET HALL 
 
 enjoyment out of the varied characters of her 
 friends, and delighted in analysis and description 
 of character. I find some records of her judgments. 
 
 " She writes of one of the circle : ' A is so 
 
 absolutely and simply natural that she could not 
 be artificial if she tried with both hands. No one 
 could ever know her intimately, for she does not 
 know herself, nor is she conscious that there is 
 anything in herself beyond herself. She is cold- 
 blooded and would be frightened at feeling a 
 strong emotion. She has no misty corners to her 
 mind.' 
 
 " In my experience Maggie always insisted on 
 clear statement in a discussion. Rash generalisa- 
 tions were torn to pieces. She ' coached ' us in 
 soundness of speech, and never lost kindness when 
 she argued with us. I think in those days I never 
 made a general remark to her without being asked 
 to establish and prove it. Her own statements were 
 niost carefully argued out. I see, e.g., in old letters 
 and diaries — ' Maggie says that in a world of atheists 
 social needs would produce a moral code,' with a 
 long argument adduced on the subject of sin, in- 
 tended to show that the conception of a personal 
 God was not necessary to the primitive idea of sin. 
 In another place — ' Maggie said she felt no interest 
 whatever in theology, it was only where philosophy 
 came in that she was at all interested. She had 
 tried to read Lightfoot's ' Commentary on the 
 Philippians,' but it didn't interest her to know who 
 were ' they of Caesar's household,' for instance. 
 
 " In later years I well remember her sympathy 
 with minds that could only approach religion through 
 thought, and her anxiety to show that this was a 
 
 51
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 real method of approach, so far as it went. Another 
 recorded word of hers suggests the line of thought 
 on which she worked in The Venture of Rational 
 Faith : — •' Maggie said one day on the subject of 
 searching after truth that the end of knowledge is 
 only to find that you don't know anything, and 
 begin on a new platform of faith.' " 
 
 Mrs. Lea writes — 
 
 " I had heard of Maggie before I ever saw her, 
 because my eldest brother, who was a tutor of 
 Keble College in the early eighties, had told me that 
 he was at that time coaching the daughter of the 
 Archbishop of Canterbury at Lady Margaret Hall 
 for the Honour School of Philosophy. He was 
 specially interested in the fact, because she was the 
 first woman he had taught, and he said he expected 
 to discern at once the feminine difference between 
 her and his men-pupils. This difference he did not, 
 however, discover ; but he was from the first 
 astonished at the extraordinary keenness of her 
 intellect, and by a combination of powers in her 
 which he thought were seldom found in the same 
 person,- — her comprehensive view of a subject as a 
 whole, and her incisive and unerring powerof analysis. 
 She could entirely identify herself with certain views 
 and opinions, and at the same time stand com- 
 pletely detached, and balance the arguments for and 
 against her position with what he called ' absolute 
 remorselessness.' He always lamented that she 
 could not read for ' Greats ' in the ordinary way, 
 and thought it a gross injustice, for he would have 
 liked her work to be compared with that of the 
 men of her own standing. He was convinced that 
 
 52
 
 
 Photo by Frciik. Argall, Truro.'] 
 
 Maggie. 
 Aged about 19. 
 
 [To jacc page 53
 
 LADY MARGARET HALL 
 
 she had a brilliant future before her, and that she 
 would do great and original work in philosophy. 
 Long afterwards, when she consulted him about the 
 early chapters of The Venture of Rational Faith, he 
 said to me : * It is extraordinary how she has 
 developed.' I reminded him of the ' feminine 
 difference,' and he said : ' Yes, I can see something 
 of it now. The " remorselessness " is gone, but she 
 has gained enormously in power and sympathy.' 
 
 "My brother himself appeared to me in those days 
 a perfect monument of learning, and it was therefore 
 with a good deal of curiosity that on the first night 
 of my own residence at Lady Margaret Hall, as a 
 student, I scanned the faces of the older members 
 of the College to discern this wonder amongst 
 women, whose intellect had made such an im- 
 pression upon him. He was no hand at personal 
 description, and I was quite at sea. I lixed upon 
 the one that I thought cleverest (as a matter of fact 
 upon the rather pathetic reserved face of Gertrude 
 Church), and I remember well my surprise^ — I had 
 almost said disappointment — when I learnt my 
 mistake. Maggie did not at all realise my youthful 
 ideal of a genius. To begin with she was a girl and 
 not a woman, and particularly girlish-looking for 
 her age, rather tall and slender, with fresh red and 
 white colouring, smooth hair simply parted over a 
 forehead of childlike smoothness, and something 
 childlike too in her large beautiful blue-grey eyes. 
 Others in my place might have seen even then, 
 others probably did see, the distinction of the well- 
 cut nose and flexible mouth, and the balance of in- 
 tellect and will in the lines of brow and chin, or been 
 arrested by the tones of the low clear thrilling voice ; 
 
 53
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 but it is certain that none of these things struck me 
 at first sight. I was only amazed at her air of 
 simplicity and naturalness, and, if I must confess 
 it, almost aghast too at her readiness to laugh at the 
 most frivolous jokes, and her manner of seeming to 
 hang almost breathlessly upon the words of a speaker 
 who was uttering sentiments of no great wisdom. 
 This manner which I noticed then of ' almost breath- 
 less listening,' even when it seemed that by no 
 possibility could she be really interested, was one 
 she never lost. I used to accuse her of it, and tell 
 her that it encouraged people to be egotistical, and 
 to think that their outpourings were of enthralling 
 importance to her. I am sure to this day that 
 nothing in the world was ever more stimulating than 
 
 the eager — ' Yes — yes, well ? And then ? ' 
 
 with which she urged one to proceed, even when 
 the recital must have been boring and dreary enough 
 to reduce most people to despair. But with her 
 this was a sort of counterpart in what I may call 
 the plane of humanity to the quality my brother had 
 remarked of her intellect. She could completely 
 identify herself in sympathy with those who con- 
 fided in her, and at the same time completely detach 
 herself and sum up the situation with unerring 
 exactness. Many mistakes were made about her 
 in early days because people failed to grasp how 
 evenly balanced were these two sides of her cha- 
 racter. Those who abused her sympathy with their 
 merciless outpourings would have done well to realise 
 her critical power, and those who realised and shrank 
 from it can never have gauged the deep tenderness 
 of her sympathy. 
 
 " Many of us in those days (though of course by no 
 
 54
 
 LADY MARGARET HALL 
 
 means all) were in a state of inward revolt against 
 the accepted order of things, and while we obeyed 
 the authorities set over us, we at the same time 
 rebelled against them. Some of us conceived our- 
 selves to be victims of the tragedy of tempera- 
 ments in our homes, some girded fretfully at all 
 religious creeds and formulas without exactly openly 
 disavowing them. Maggie was always the recipient 
 of many confidences, and how completely she herself 
 differed from those who complained to her and how 
 utterly her attitude towards both these questions 
 differed from theirs, must have struck every one who 
 thus approached her quite as much as anything she 
 said. Religion already seemed with her the real 
 mainspring of life and action ; her home the place 
 in which, in its largest sense, she might be said to 
 be most at home. These were the two impressions 
 graven first and deepest on my mind with regard 
 to her, and through all the years that I was to know 
 her they remained thus or only strengthened in 
 intensity. I remember all this the more distinctly 
 because it certainly was not the fashion for us at 
 College to speak much of our homes — perhaps for 
 the reason I have given above— and she fell into it 
 with me by a mere accident. When we went for 
 walks together we used to play a kind of game of 
 telling each other stories of what we meant to be and 
 to do when we left College, and her stories so often 
 included references to ' her own people and her 
 father's house ' that I used to stop her and ask 
 for explanations. Gradually I came to know all her 
 family through her, until I grew to look upon the 
 real story of her childhood as the romance, and cared 
 no more about her dreams of the future. It was 
 
 55
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 not that she could not criticise those who stood so 
 near to her ; she could and did add many of those 
 keen and shrewd touches which proved her piercing 
 and ' remorseless ' vision, but these only served to 
 prove how deep her real appreciation of them was. 
 
 "It is extraordinary, however, to remember how 
 many different things she could do and did do and 
 into which she threw her whole heart, quite apart 
 from the fact that she was reading for the Honour 
 School of Philosophy. She must have had extra- 
 ordinary powers of concentration as well as swiftness 
 of execution, for I can never remember to have 
 heard her plead her work as a reason for not doing 
 something else. She never, I think, exactly took the 
 initiative in games, but she threw all her weight on 
 to the side which did. When lacrosse was 
 substituted for hockey, she played the new game 
 with as much keenness as the old, and she was eager 
 for the College to have a boat on the river, and to 
 qualify herself for rowing in it by learning to swim 
 the distance required as a condition. She seemed so 
 strong and enthusiastic about outdoor sports that 
 it was years before I could get it into my head that 
 she was not perhaps physically as strong as she 
 seemed. I remember her throwing me easily in a 
 wrestling match in the College gymnasium, and 
 though she was never exactly boisterous, she could 
 enjoy a game of blind man's buff or prisoner's base 
 like a child. 
 
 " She generally spoke at College debates, and 
 she spoke clearly and incisively, but her manner in 
 those days was a little hesitating and diffident. She 
 seemed to think while she was speaking, and to be 
 reviewing the whole subject rapidly, while she noted 
 
 56
 
 LADY MARGARET HALL 
 
 points. She never had a doubt as to her own 
 conclusions, but she seemed anxious to give due 
 weight to all opposition. The charm of her voice 
 always arrested attention, but I doubt whether many 
 of those who heard her in those days guessed at the 
 power she would develop later to hold a large 
 audience by her fearless logic and shrewd insight 
 into social and political questions. It was the same 
 with conversation then. She seemed to think too 
 much of the subject as a whole to be able to throw 
 off light or superficial criticisms. Later in life her 
 conversation flowed easily — she could seize upon the 
 main pointsof her opponent's argumentsand demolish 
 them in a few telling words— delivered with an 
 aptness and dryness which were both arresting and 
 disconcerting. 
 
 " The instinct for drama and dramatic effect which 
 was so strong in some members of her family was 
 not, I think, so strong in her. She liked to see good 
 acting, and could throw herself into a part she had 
 undertaken to play in amateur theatricals as whole- 
 heartedly as she could throw herself into other 
 recreations, but I do not think it really made a 
 strong appeal to her, any more than I think she 
 found herself helped by ritual in her religion, although 
 she could enjoy it artistically. I always thought 
 that her dramatic gift showed itself best in reading 
 aloud and in repeating poetry. The expressiveness 
 and flexibility of her voice lent itself to every shade 
 of meaning, and her pure enunciation was at all 
 times a joy to hear. 
 
 " I remember that while we were at College Mr. 
 Ruskin was induced to come and have tea with us 
 all in hall, and INIaggie was challenged to quote 
 
 57
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 something from ' In Memoriam,' and repeated the 
 lines beginning ' Love was and is my Lord and 
 King,' with her usual simplicity and expressiveness. 
 Ruskin seemed absolutely delighted with the aptness 
 of the words and with her manner of giving them, 
 and sat for a long time after tea talking of poets 
 and poetry. 
 
 " She said of herself all her life long that she was 
 no judge of character, and had no intuitions about 
 it as other people had, so that she could only arrive 
 at an opinion by a process of analysis and elimination. 
 I believe many people agreed with her in this opinion 
 of herself, and perhaps in a limited sense they and 
 she were right. She judged others generously, and 
 never with the finality which most very young people 
 mete out. She would always admit a new possibility 
 and be ready to hear fresh evidence. ' You see, 
 personally I'm so glad to be mistaken and to find 
 that it is I who have been wrciig,' was her attitude. 
 She wanted every one to have their own individuality 
 and never wished to press arbitrary standards on 
 any one. We were always discussing motives and 
 character at College, and we saw plainly enough the 
 imperfections and shortcomings of each other. Few 
 of us perhaps could understand that quality of 
 detachment in her which would both see the fault 
 and see beyond it. She was often accused of making 
 too much of certain people and spoiling them, and 
 especially of noticing too soon the new students who, 
 it was thought, should be taught to show deference 
 to their seniors. It was the fashion to laugh at her 
 and try to restrain her, and though she made light 
 of the thing and could write amusedly of it, yet she 
 certainly felt in some degree the sting of the criticisms. 
 
 58
 
 LADY MARGARET HALL 
 
 Both then and always she disliked to be out of 
 harmony with her surroundings, and was almost 
 abnormally sensitive to the mental attitude of others 
 towards herself. She writes on one occasion : ' I 
 
 find Miss distinctly interesting, but " the 
 
 passage " is so severe to me about encouraging new 
 girls, that I haven't hitherto dared to hint at 
 Christian names. It's just as well, for she needs 
 
 a little suppressing. H gives her that from time 
 
 to time most judiciously and with much dignity.' 
 
 " The habit of discussing character grew rife 
 amongst us one term, and led to very obvious evils. 
 Some of us arose at last and denounced and renounced 
 the habit most determinedly, and even those who 
 did not renounce it felt conscience-stricken and 
 bound to denounce it. Maggie would never do 
 either the one or the other. She then and always 
 defended the discussion of character, which she said 
 was the most interesting thing in the world to dis- 
 cuss, and the best way of getting to understand 
 people. Nor would she agree to the compromise 
 that one might say good of people but not evil — 
 declaring that this was a sort of bearing of false 
 witness, and that to ignore people's faults was only 
 to raise expectations which were bound to be dis- 
 appointed. She always, however, deprecated most 
 strongly the handing on of criticisms to the criticised 
 with the name of the critic, since no one, she said, 
 could ever repeat anything exactly in the manner 
 in which it had been said. 
 
 " There was a somewhat kindred subject which it 
 was also very much the custom to discuss, namely 
 the attraction which certain characters possess for 
 certain others, and the romantic friendships resulting 
 
 59
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 therefrom. I do not remember that any one except 
 Maggie openly defended them, but, as in the other 
 case, she took her own line, and could not be moved 
 from it. For this she was often criticised, both 
 then and later. Perhaps she and her critics 
 did not understand one another, and little 
 wonder ! Maggie had a real genius for friend- 
 ship. She could arouse in others a perfect 
 enthusiasm of devotion, while she in turn 
 was capable of ideal and romantic attachments. 
 She accepted such devotion with the absolute 
 simplicity which always characterised her. She 
 could receive as generously as she gave, and I think 
 that in some sort of way she felt that her acceptance 
 gave the other person a real claim on her. But 
 this did not at all imply that she ever tolerated 
 morbidity or emotionalism. ' You say,' she wrote 
 to one of her friends, ' that not to put feeling first 
 in your life, as you have always done, would seem 
 like self-murder to you. It is just that kind of 
 self-murder which we are called upon to commit.' " 
 
 All these recollections give an impression of vivid 
 life, freshness, and spring. She came out into the 
 sunshine, and above all had the sense, so dear to her, 
 that she could play a real part and intermingle with 
 other lives ; hitherto it had been a spectatorial 
 affair as though she had been preparing herself for 
 something unknown. 
 
 Her letters are full of excitement and even glee. 
 I give a few extracts. 
 
 60
 
 LADY MARGARET HALL 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Lady Margaret Hall, 
 Oxford. 
 
 Miss F has developed a most extraordinary 
 
 faculty for asking questions at Bible-class which 
 you couldn't possibly guess the answers to — 
 
 Quest. " What do jewels remind you of, besides 
 
 being bright ? " 
 (Can you guess it ? I couldn't.) 
 Ans. Durableness ! ! ! ! Hence moral, of 
 
 course 
 
 There was another much worse one 
 
 Quest. " When you see a new railway running 
 across a country, does it generally follow 
 the rivers and so on or doesn't it ? " 
 (Now this answer you couldn't possibly guess, 
 so you need not try.) 
 
 Ans. Sometimes it does, and sometimes it 
 
 doesn't. 
 Moral obvious — because sometimes it has to go 
 across rivers and through mountains and sometimes 
 it hasn't ! 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Lady Margaret Hall, 
 Oxford. 
 (18S4.) 
 
 Dean Burgon has been preaching the University 
 Sermon this morning, a perfectly outrageous sermon, 
 all about the women's Exams., the congregation in 
 fits of laughter apparently nearly all through. They 
 
 61
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 really laughed quite audibly, Miss Lucas said — I 
 wasn't there. Rather horrid, isn't it ? He said 
 all the things, it seems, which he had said in his 
 Letter — about women becoming men and so on. 
 He said, for instance, that the women who went in 
 for these examinations would be " instruments of 
 death and channels unto evil." 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Lady Margaret Hall, 
 Oxford. 
 (1884.) 
 
 It is so delightful. My bird and a goldfinch 
 of Miss Lucas' have struck up an acquaintance with 
 a little wild hen-goldfinch. 1 don't know whether 
 it has been a caged bird, but it is very tame. It 
 comes into our rooms, and into an empty cage of 
 Miss Lucas', where it spends the nights. I have 
 clipped my bird's wings, and take it out in the 
 garden, and then the goldfinch comes and visits 
 it and bows to it and behaves in the prettiest way 
 altogether. My bird is tamer than ever and runs 
 about after me in the garden to attack me. 
 
 [To her Mother.) 
 
 Lady Margaret HalL 
 {1884.) 
 
 The deputation* was great fun. We have had 
 3 meetings — because first they proposed a plan of 
 
 * From Somerville College, about fornaing a Joint Debating 
 Society. 
 
 62
 
 LADY MARGARET HALL 
 
 the constitution of the society to us, then we had 
 to get the feeling (" sense " as they very profession- 
 ally call it) of Lady Margaret on the plan. Lady 
 Margaret highly disapproved and proposed another 
 plan. They had to get the opinion of Somerville 
 on that plan — then we met and agreed and were 
 amiable over it. They arc so professional about it. 
 At the first meeting we had to vote somebody into 
 the Chair (there were only 8 of us present) but the 
 only thing that the Chairman did officially was to 
 turn to the person next her and say, " Then will you 
 begin." One of the chief points was to avoid the 
 supposed canvassing. The Somerville Chairwoman 
 declared that at Somerville there never was any 
 canvassing, but we heard from a private source 
 that before the last election two chief Somervillians 
 went about canvassing with chocolate drops ! 
 I must stop. 
 
 {To hey Mother.) 
 
 Lady Margaret Hall. 
 (1884.) 
 
 ... At Mrs B 's last Friday, Miss B was 
 
 " going on " till she hnally said that you ought to 
 try to like bores because you would meet them in 
 heaven. Two or three people were looking slightly 
 
 amused, but N suddenly without warning 
 
 exploded — she is given to bursts of laughter in 
 inconvenient places. It was perfectly awful, for no 
 one thoroughly recovered for the rest of the time. 
 
 63
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 We had such a delicious expedition yesterday 
 to Bagley Wood — a place near here — Oxford is 
 perfectly lovely just now. 
 
 (7 Jicr Mother.) 
 
 Lady Margaret Hall. 
 (1884.) 
 
 The Prices * are going to ask me to join a ladies' 
 reading society on Saturdays here. But they are 
 going to read " A Blot on the Scutcheon." What 
 shall I say ? There is another girl who is asked to 
 go and wants to, and I am not sure if she will be 
 able to go alone. Would you answer yes, or no, 
 on a postcard, as soon as you can ? 
 
 It was so " exciting " the other day at the School 
 of Art — Ruskin himself was there, and he came and 
 spoke to me about my drawing, and corrected it 
 and so on. He is going to Lecture here this term — 
 and we are going to them. 
 
 My work is so jolly. It is so delicious doing the 
 
 Greek philosophers — I do like Methods of Ethics 
 
 too, it is so beautifully fair, but I think it is extremely 
 
 hard to read. 
 
 , • • • • . 
 
 Did I tell you that Mr. Gent said that the paper 
 I did on philosophy on the work I got up in the 
 vacation was a first-class one ? He said I had got 
 
 * The wife and daughters of Prof. Bartholomew Price (after- 
 wards Master of Pembroke College), made their beautiful old 
 house in St. Giles' — the Judges' Lodgings — one of the social 
 and artistic centres of Oxford life. 
 
 64
 
 LADY MARGARET HALL 
 
 a philosophical position now — isn't that a comfort — 
 I didn't know it. He recommends my taking up 
 an ethical position too. Toodle ! Ha ! ha ! As 
 to the Ethics and Pol. Econ. I suppose I ought to 
 be able to get through them. 
 
 (7^0 her Mother.) 
 
 Lady Margaret Hall, 
 Oxford. 
 (1S84.) 
 
 By the way, I must tell you what Ruskin said 
 to me yesterday. I had been painting a copy of a 
 purple and white snail-shell of his, when he came and 
 stood behind me and said, " That is very beautiful." 
 Of course at first I thought he meant his own was 
 very beautiful, it would have been so very like him. 
 But he went on to say : " I can't teach you any more. 
 I shall be very glad if you will come to my vSchool, 
 and I will give you all the attention that I can — but 
 if you can lay on colour, and round the shell like 
 that, you can paint anything — you have only to 
 study nature and read my lectures as they come out 
 [isn't that like him ?]. All I can say is that your 
 painting is as good as the copy." Then he went on 
 to say that I might do anything I liked — Turner 
 or anything, and that I had better think it over in 
 the Christmas Vacation. Then I had to ask him 
 to come up to tea at L.M.H., having been deputed 
 to do so by Miss Wordsworth — which he accepted 
 in the most amiable manner. He has been to 
 Somerville already. As he went away he said : " And 
 if 3'ou are going to stay on at Lady Margaret's, they 
 
 65 F
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 will install you as drawing-mistress." It was rather 
 surprising altogether because he had been rather 
 severe on me at the beginning of term. 
 
 Your lovingest daughter, 
 
 M. B. 
 
 (To her Sister. 
 
 Lady Margaret Hall. 
 (1884.) 
 
 There have been one or two little fusses here 
 of a most absurd nature. Did I tell you about 
 
 A 's chair in chapel ? She and two or three 
 
 others appropriated chairs for themselves — one of 
 
 the new girls, Miss C was constantly taking the 
 
 chair which A had set her heart on — from one 
 
 or two things she said she was believed to do this 
 on purpose — probably out of spite. Plans were 
 
 laid against her. Miss E went early into the 
 
 chapel, took A 's chair, then just before prayers 
 
 began, when Miss C had seated herself, she 
 
 crossed over and sat down on another. Miss C 
 
 suspected something then, having been absolutely 
 
 innocent before ; Miss B spoke to her about it, 
 
 and she went into floods of tears, then she spoke 
 
 to me about it and wept again. Then I told A 
 
 who went to speak to her about it and she wept for 
 the third time. That was the end I think. Did 
 you ever hear anything much more babyish from 
 beginning to end. You like hearing about rows, 
 
 don't you ? 
 
 66
 
 LADY MARGARET HALL 
 
 {To hey Mother.) 
 
 Lady Margaret Hall, 
 Oxford. 
 (1885.) 
 
 I have begun my Turner at last. It is an 
 unlinished sketch but a very lovely one— all the 
 better for being unfinished, as one can sec the way 
 it IS done. ^ 
 
 F - is one of those intensely virtuous people 
 who perform their duty entirely and consequently 
 never committing, as far as one can see, any positive 
 faults, rather tend to be entirely unconscious of 
 their own defects. That is a strong way of putting 
 It, but I thmk you will see what I mean A sort 
 of person who has an intensely strong sense of duty 
 and rather narrow ideas. 
 
 Mother, do you know, the thought of you makes 
 me feel the existence of an active and powerful 
 principle of good in the world and in people I 
 mean you seem to illuminate things for me somehow 
 ^^ 1 don't so much care about Mr. Braithwaite's 
 City on a hill "-but I think I understand the 
 meamng of " ye are the light of ihi, world " in a 
 new way. 
 
 (ro hey Mother.) 
 
 Lady Margaret Hall, 
 Oxford. 
 (1SS5.) 
 
 Really the changes in the Hall are too odd It 
 IS at present more or less emerging out of a state of 
 
 67
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 morbidity in which every one was always having 
 scenes (of an affectionate and agitating description) 
 with every one else. The reaction more or less tends 
 to make every one rather dissatisfied with, and 
 severe on, other people. This also it will get over 
 I think. 
 
 I have been reading a new thing on Free- Will — 
 in Green's " Prolegomena to Ethics " — do read the 
 chapter about free-will, if you see the book, and tell 
 me what you think about it. I think it is better 
 than anything I have read before on the subject — 
 all the same I don't think it gets one quite out of 
 the difficulty. The whole book is awfully interesting. 
 It treats the whole subject from a less matter-of-fact 
 point of view than most books. It makes it more 
 living, and gives one less a feeling that the whole 
 thing could be summed up and written down if you 
 only had time enough. It is about the most difficult 
 book I ever tried to read, however. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Lady Margaret Hall, 
 Oxford. 
 
 (1885.) 
 
 My work is awfully nice this term— I have 
 political economy * twice a week. It was most 
 absurd — after the second essay that I sent in for 
 that, my coach told me that he didn't think he could 
 
 * She wrote, long afterwards, " One feels how dreadfully 
 thin and abstract, and therefore practically though not logically 
 incorrect Oxford-taught Political Economy is." 
 
 68 
 
 I
 
 LADY MyVRGARET HALL 
 
 help me much, and that if I found it better to read 
 alone, I could give up my lessons with him. As 
 that is not true, however, it doesn't matter. I 
 have moral philosophy with a very good person 
 indeed, a pupil of Green of the Prolegomena. He 
 gives me awful essays to do at present — the relation 
 of Moral Philosophy to practice. Then I go to 
 Political Science lectures and write papers for them, 
 and go to another course at the Schools. Altogether 
 it is most delightful. It is so nice getting back to 
 work again— especially such inspiring sort of work 
 as the Moral Philosophy. 
 
 {To her Sister Nelly.) 
 
 Kenwyn. 
 (1886.) 
 
 My child, I am crammed with gossip. 
 
 I want to know very much if I may definitely 
 come back on Thursday week. Or if I came on 
 Tuesday, I should not miss more than one of Papa's 
 sermons which I dreadfully want to hear. 
 
 Haven't done a stroke of work and I see next to 
 no prospect of it. 
 
 I can't possibl}' stay because I shall be homesick 
 then. 
 
 You must be having a simply glorious time I 
 should think. I hope you won't spoil it by thinking 
 of your faults. I am not going to rack my brain to 
 get any more to suggest by letter now at any rate. 
 
 6q
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 Mama has a little rheumatism but transcenden- 
 talism has departed. There is a book on Dyspepsia 
 advertised in Illustrated London News, price i^. — 
 it is advice ! 
 
 {To her Sister.) 
 
 Lady Margaret Hall, 
 Oxford. 
 
 (1886.) 
 
 Dearest Nell, 
 
 You are an angel to be so prompt, I am so 
 glad to get the money too for I was so reduced 
 that I shouldn't have been able to pay my washing 
 bill. 
 
 Of course you couldn't read Sunodos, my infant, 
 because it's a Greek word written in English letters 
 meaning synod, avvo^og. As for the other, perhaps 
 it was a little illegible. My goody, the walls of 
 Jericho must have gone indeed ! 
 
 {To her Sister.) 
 
 Lady Margaret Hall, 
 Oxford. 
 (1886.) 
 
 Dearest Nell, 
 
 We are going to act the Rose and the Ring. 
 Can you darling sweet — send me all the hair we have 
 got (I mean our beards and wigs) I should like to 
 have them as soon as possible. 
 
 Also my child you haven't yet sent me Phantasms 
 of the Dead, which I want very much. Did you 
 remember about my dress ? 
 
 That's all for the present, thank you dear. 
 
 70
 
 LADY MARGARET HALL 
 
 {To her Sister.) 
 
 Lady Margaret Hali, 
 Oxford. 
 
 (1886.) 
 
 Dearest Nellie, 
 
 Thank you very much for your letter — I 
 hardly think you could make it nicer for me at home 
 than you do. With you there I do feel in a sort 
 of way eager to come home in spite of minding, as 
 one must do, leaving this place. I only wish 
 somehow London didn't bring out all the wicked- 
 ness that is in me. 
 
 Look here — about this old exam. I wish people 
 weren't expecting me so much to get a first. Do 
 you think you could modify their expectations at 
 home. You see Miss Mason only got a second, and 
 I feel that I shall be paralysed as soon as I sec a 
 paper. 
 
 [To her Sister.) 
 
 Lady Margaret Hall, 
 (1SS6.) 
 
 If you see my dear little Hegel anywhere about 
 (if no one wants to read it as a devotional book), 
 you might bring it with you. I have something 
 else very important to ask you but I forget what 
 it is. When oh when shall 1 hear about the Read- 
 ing Party ? 
 
 E is of very maturish age — 25 or 24 — 
 
 and has been a High School Mistress. What do 
 you think of that, my cat ? 
 
 71
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 All goes well here- — but oh — my books ! Had 
 you done | the work you ought to have before 
 the exam. ? 
 
 [To her Mother.) 
 
 Lady Margaret Hall. 
 (1886.) 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 We went to hear Michael Davitt here the 
 other night. I feel as if there were rather more to 
 be said about Home Rule than I thought. He spoke 
 very well and answered questions excellently. But 
 I don't think I believe in Home Rule on the whole 
 — and I do hate arguments founded on the rights 
 of humanity. 
 
 Your lovingest daughter, 
 
 Maggie. 
 It will be nice to be at home. I am getting 
 greedy for it though this term has been qiiite nice. 
 
 [To her Mother.) 
 
 Lady Margaret Hall, 
 Oxford. 
 (1886.) 
 
 There are three new ones — one looks interesting. 
 In strict confidence Miss Wordsworth informs me 
 that she belongs to a very free-thinking set — and 
 that I am to allow her to have her say to me. 
 
 It is really like summer here though its coolish 
 72
 
 LADY IVFARGARET HALL 
 
 at night. The trees are looking lovely. \\'ork is 
 the last thing that suggests itself. 
 
 My work is nice — Political Science particularly 
 interesting. After being brought face to face with 
 Constitutional Monarchy * I feel I must have a 
 vocation to study Political Science. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Lady Margaret Hall, 
 Oxford. 
 (1886.) 
 
 The debating society has got itself settled ex- 
 quisitely so I feel inclined to crow over the Somer- 
 villes. I am going to have a bell I think to call 
 people to order — it's quite necessary if Miss 
 
 R is there for she walks about and enters into 
 
 conversation while we arc voting and you can't 
 call her to order by name. 
 
 We went to such a good lecture on Buddhism 
 yesterday. I want to read some more about it— 
 because people seem to say that Edwin Arnold is 
 so unfair. 
 
 Did you know that among his various births 
 Buddha was born 6 times as a snipe once as a frog 
 and twice as a pig ? 
 
 Might I have some money, I have hardly any. 
 T had to pay my exam. fees. 
 
 * She had been presented at Court. 
 
 73
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Lady Margaret Hall, 
 Oxford. 
 (1886.) 
 
 . . . Everything goes well here. Having 
 searched Oxford for a Pol. Econ. coach in vain Mrs. 
 Johnson * has applied to some one in London who 
 won't take me, so we are turning our attention to 
 Cambridge. 
 
 The lessons I have with Mr. E are interesting 
 
 now, but they are apt to develope arguments which 
 trace back to some subject like Free Will or the 
 Origin of Evil and don't get settled. Yesterday 
 he declared that some opinions, (which I hold), were 
 not really consistent with Christianity nor even 
 with Theism — but I think they were — much more 
 so than his at any rate. 
 
 We have been having a long and furious dis- 
 cussion here too on the reconciliation of Science 
 and Religion. Janet, Edith and I three to one 
 
 against Eleanor Jourdain. Miss B was so nice 
 
 the other day — she gave me to understand that Miss 
 
 P was so good for girls because she had really 
 
 gone into all the questions of the day — " the first 
 chapter of Genesis and all that." Wouldn't it be 
 a simplified world if that was the worst. " I larft 
 I did." 
 
 * Mrs. Arthur Johnson, wife of the Chaplain of All Souls, 
 was one of the organisers of women's education in Oxford. 
 
 74
 
 LADY MARGARET HALL 
 
 {To hey Mother.) 
 
 Lady Margaret Hall, 
 Oxford. 
 
 (1886.) 
 
 This term is quiet, I like Miss F a good 
 
 deal only there is so little time left — and so many 
 people — and I am supposed to encourage her too 
 much as she is rather inclined to assert herself — 
 but I like people who assert themselves. 
 
 My work is like a nightmare— I mean it seems so 
 impossible to get done this term what I ought to 
 do. But I suppose that isn't an unusual experience. 
 Miss Wordsworth happily announced the other day 
 that she wasn't going to expect any of us to get a 
 first which is a comfort. But if those Somervilles 
 do (which they will) I shall be " seriously annoyed." 
 
 Deep despair is seizing nearly every examinee 
 — I am calmer than most I think — but the harassed 
 expressions of the general public are awful. Ex- 
 aminations go on too for these next three weeks. 
 This week preliminary and Rudiments— next week 
 
 the Honoui-s History ; A is consequently per- 
 
 fecth/ blankly depressed — and then all the Pass 
 and Honours. Our exam, is about 6 hours a day 
 for nearly a week — isn't that awful. 
 
 75
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 {To hey Mother.) 
 
 Lady Margaret Hall, 
 Oxford. 
 (1886.) 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 Thank you very much indeed for your letter. 
 It is curious to be getting to the end of a stage in 
 your life certainly — as of course this is in a way. 
 Only the nice part is that with everything else one 
 feels a sort of eagerness to make a fresh start in 
 the next. 
 
 This term has been most delightful in many 
 ways, and tranquil enough in spite of exams. I 
 am not going to do much more work now. 
 
 It must have been nice at Addington. How 
 I will paint this autumn and next year. Mr. 
 Macdonald — the School of Art Master — is going to 
 give me letters to the National Gallery people — so 
 I shall be able to practise there. 
 
 {To a Friend.) 
 
 Lady Margaret Hall, 
 Oxford. 
 {1S86.) 
 
 Don't abuse me inwardly if this is a short 
 letter. When that old exam, is over I will write 
 more. That sounds as if I were working tre- 
 mendously, which I am not. 
 
 I was glad to see you again — there are always 
 such a lot of things that you won't tell me by 
 letter that I have to grind out of you when I see you. 
 I am glad you told me all that you had in your 
 
 76
 
 LADY MARGARET HALL 
 
 mind to tell me — but I wish there had been more 
 time. 
 
 How nice it would be if one had a convenient 
 little desert or hermitage hard by to retire to if one 
 wanted to talk to one person. 
 
 Oh dear, how dreadfully silly I am getting. It's 
 the effect of getting a rapid review of all my work 
 for the last three years. 
 
 Beatrice is so melancholy to-day. It's awful 
 — an air of despair is settling down on the house- 
 hold. I don't feel depressed a bit, but I can't help 
 appearing so — isn't it a pity — partly it is the desire 
 to be in harmony with my surroundings I suppose. 
 
 i\Iind you write to me. 
 
 (7^0 a Friend.) 
 
 Lady Margaret Hall, 
 (1886.) 
 
 You have been good to me this \\eek — and 
 I have liked your letters so nmch. 
 
 I wish I could write you a nice letter, but I 
 don't think I can to-day. 
 
 I didn't laugh at your letter — at any of them 
 in fact. Why did you think 1 might ? You know 
 quite well that I never do laugh at you when you 
 talk to me seriously. 
 
 I do agree with you about the want of purpose 
 in people's lives. Don't awful times come over 
 you when you think there is no good in living at 
 all ? I think you do wrong in separating Chris- 
 tianity from the desire for good in itself. I can't 
 
 77
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 write as you want me to now — I am sorry — I do 
 feel so vacant and inwardly dead to-day. 
 
 I am not glad the exams, are over — I liked them 
 very much while they were going on, whatever 
 bosh I wrote, and waiting to hear the result isn't 
 pleasant. It will be out very soon I believe — oh 
 dear — it is horrid. 
 
 It isn't at all nice either coming to the end of a 
 period in your life — and yet just now I don't want 
 to stay at Oxford. One gets perhaps just a little 
 the feeling of being shut in, of having rather narrow 
 interests — and knowing or at least caring about 
 very little outside. Of course it isn't necessary 
 but I do it. 
 
 I should think this was the worst howl I have 
 ever written you isn't it — but I am not altogether 
 howling, so don't think it. 
 
 78
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 LONDON 
 
 All this time, life at Lambeth and Addington had 
 been in full swing. It was a curious and exciting 
 experience, for we had lived very quietly hitherto. 
 My father had always thrown himself with such 
 intensity into his work that there had been little 
 room for outside activities. He had never gone in 
 for external preaching or committees or social 
 functions. He was " a dark horse," as was said 
 of him by some one when he came to London. He 
 was just known as a man who had succeeded in a 
 singular way in establishing institutions, Wellington 
 College, the Theological School at Lincoln, the new 
 Diocese and Cathedral at Truro. Suddenly he 
 found himself at the head of ecclesiastical affairs, 
 and a great officer of State. 
 
 First of all came Lambeth, perhaps the stateliest 
 and most historical house in London. We were not 
 quite unfamiliar with it. There is a tower there, 
 Lollards' Tower as it is romantically but unhistorically 
 called, from the fact that certain cells in it had been 
 used to incarcerate ecclesiastical offenders, though 
 assuredly not Lollards. The rings to which their 
 chains were attached were still in sittt, with the 
 pathetic inscriptions they had carved on the rough 
 panelling to beguile sad hours. This building 
 
 ■ 79
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 abutted on the chapel and was detached from the 
 house. Archbishop Tait had made of it a College 
 for Bishops living at a distance, and allotted sets 
 of rooms there, to my father among others, so that 
 we had most of us been there at various times. 
 There was a little gallery on pillars which opened 
 out from Lollards' Tower into the nave of the chapel ; 
 and we had often gone in there for the services, 
 seen Archbishop Tait moving slowly to his place, 
 and heard his deep voice below joining in the 
 prayers. 
 
 The mediaeval stateliness of the palace itself is 
 highly impressive. You enter from the street by 
 a vast towered gate of many stories, then under a 
 second archway into the great front court, with the 
 old buttressed Hall, now a library, on the left, the 
 long range of stable-buildings on the right, and 
 the main building in front of you. The actual house 
 is a place of huge corridors and spacious rooms, 
 richly furnished, and with an immense number of 
 fine portraits. The dining-room is the old Guard- 
 room, with a timbered roof, and behind it there is 
 a maze of passages and staircases, where you can 
 look into the chapel from a little gallery by the 
 altar. The chapel itself is ancient and dignified, very 
 finely adorned. Every corner of the house is full 
 of history and tradition. We boys, for instance, 
 had as a sitting-room a great thick- walled oak-floored 
 room, with deep window embrasures and oak beams, 
 at the top of a tower called Cranmer's Tower, ap- 
 proached by a winding stone staircase and looking 
 out on the river. There is an extensive garden, 
 with a terrace and some fine old trees, opening on to 
 a wide space of grass, now a public park, but then 
 
 80
 
 LONDON 
 
 reserved for boys' cricket-clubs. The house was 
 cool and silent, and the noise of London remote. 
 My sisters had as their sitting-room a big chamber 
 on the upper corridor, looking out on the garden. 
 It was impossible not to be affected by all this 
 magnificence. 
 
 From the first my father was very hospitable. 
 There were state dinner-parties to which came many 
 notable people, there were garden-parties, with the 
 court full of carriages and a stream of guests moving 
 about the garden and house. But apart from these 
 festivities, we were never alone ; there were numbers 
 of officials and ecclesiastics whom my father had to 
 see, and day after day, at breakfast, luncheon, tea, 
 and dinner, there were always visitors, often very 
 interesting figures, who came for some specific inter- 
 view. It was a most busy house, with strangers 
 and friends always coming and going. My father 
 was little visible except at meals. Letters and 
 interviews in the morning, meetings and the House 
 of Lords in the afternoon, reading, writing, pre- 
 paration of sermons, speeches, and addresses, filled 
 his day and went on far into the night ; but he was 
 always in good spirits at Lambeth. He was fond 
 of riding, and we often rode with him to the Row 
 or to Battersea Gardens. Maggie became an excel- 
 lent horsewoman, and I can see her in the little tall 
 hat and long habit then worn, coming deliberately 
 down the stairs, with her half-diffident, half-stately 
 air, for a ride. Then there were parties and recep- 
 tions to go to, at which one came into contact with 
 all sorts of interesting people. So that the London 
 life was full of activity and bustle, with the sense 
 moreover that one was, if not exactly at the centre 
 
 81 G
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 of affairs, at least at the centre of a great and 
 vigorous institution. The Church of England is very 
 unlike most institutions. It depends little on policy 
 or discipline, much upon tradition and dignity. It 
 is not easy to give a logical account of its methods, 
 but it has had its own development and is congenial 
 to the spirit of the nation. If my father did not 
 ever quite fathom the political system of England, 
 loose, opportunist, swayed by social currents, easy- 
 going as it is, he had an extraordinary knowledge 
 of ecclesiastical feeling, and led the Church with 
 unfailing tact and confidence, besides exercising a 
 very patriarchal function in the Colonial Churches. 
 The clergy of the day felt that, whatever happened, 
 my father understood their position and their diffi- 
 culties. Thus there was always the sense at Lambeth 
 that my father was the General of a great Order, so 
 to speak, and held the reins firmly in his hands. 
 
 The contrast of Addington was very great. 
 Addington was a huge country-house, a real chateau, 
 in a large park with beautiful woodlands, with the 
 suburbs coming up to the gates almost, but with 
 the most rustic of villages behind, and a remote 
 pastoral countryside. The life there was extremely 
 quiet, but for occasional parties of distinguished 
 visitors. It was a country-house without amuse- 
 ments, except for riding and little games. Our great 
 friends and companions were the households of 
 Charles and Henry Goschen, who lived close by ; 
 and the Mylnes, the Carrs, and John Reeve, who 
 lived successively at the Vicarage. My sisters had 
 a big room, called the schoolroom, looking out on 
 to a lawn and a terrace, with the great cedar-tree 
 supported by innumerable props ; beyond, the park 
 
 82
 
 ADDINGTON 
 
 and woodland stretched in all directions. Even then 
 we were not often alone, but there was none of the 
 stir of Lambeth. 
 
 Nelly flung herself into the. exterior life both of 
 Lambeth and Addington. She had a district in 
 Lambeth and visited diligently, while at Addington 
 she made friends with the villagers, taught, organised 
 experiments, made herself useful in many ways. 
 
 But this was not so much in Maggie's line. Her 
 tastes were never exactly sociable, though she was 
 always dutiful. But she had not Nelly's companion- 
 ableness, nor did she find amusement and interest, 
 as Nelly did, in every human being within reach. 
 Maggie read more and painted more. She wrote 
 a little manual of political economy, called Capital, 
 Labour, Trade and the Outlook, and she planned a 
 philosophical work. She was always ready to lay 
 her work aside, but left to herself, she took it up 
 again quietly, and all her employments were de- 
 liberate and careful. She travelled about a good 
 deal ; stayed with the families of her Oxford fellow- 
 students, and her relations with friends always took 
 up much of her time and thought. Much as she 
 had enjoyed Oxford she felt the stimulus of the 
 London life. One of her friends writes — 
 
 " A year after she left Oxford, she came upon a 
 visit to Lady Marga. Hall at the end of the 
 summer term. She haa often told me of her shy- 
 ness, and of the torment it was to her as a young 
 girl to face the many guests who, at Truro and 
 Lambeth, naturally came to her home. We took 
 a Sunday morning walk round Magdalen meadows, 
 and talked of my future. I said I should like to 
 
 83
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 stay in Oxford if possible ; and she said ' Oh, don't 
 do that, Janet. I used to feel like that, but now 
 that I have been a year away, I know that though 
 Oxford is all very well, there is one thing better, 
 and that is London.' " 
 
 I add here one or two letters belonging to the 
 time when she was still at Oxford, but gradually 
 picking up the threads of the London life. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Waterloo, 
 
 Truro. 
 
 (1884.) 
 
 Please tell Papa that they call him " their dear 
 old father " at Idless. Two men were quarrelling, 
 Mrs. Cornish told me, and they said that if their 
 dear old father had been there, this wouldn't have 
 been allowed to go on. Mrs. Maclean * said he was 
 like a father to her yesterday. 
 
 [To her Mother. 
 
 Truro. 
 (1884.) 
 
 Dearest Mother, 
 
 Thank you so much for your note. I hope 
 you liked Windsor. Did the Queen kiss you } I 
 hope she came to her right mind about it. 
 
 It is so beautiful down here just now. It is 
 quite different being down in the country even to 
 being at Addington. 
 
 By the way, you said that " My Pags " in Lucy's 
 
 * The coachman's wife, considerably my father's senior, 
 84
 
 LONDON 
 
 letter made you ill. It makes me even iller to hear 
 
 Miss P call Stafta " Stafflings," and Miss B 
 
 call Staffa " Taffeta," and Watch, " Watchie- 
 watch." It's all very well for once, but I get worse 
 and worse every time I hear it. 
 
 Evelyn showed me the choughs on Thursday. 
 They are the most fascinating birds, but the difiiculty 
 is where we can keep them at Lambeth. I don't 
 quite see. They are too large to be kept always in 
 the cage and we can't very well clip their wings and 
 let them out at Lambeth, as we could at Addington, 
 for fear of cats. They are most delightful birds 
 however. We took one of them out because we 
 thought he couldn't fly. He instantly flew up to 
 the top of the house, and then went wheeling round 
 and round till he saw a servant come out of the 
 house, when he instantly swooped down upon her 
 head, and we caught it so. 
 
 Please give my love to every one. 
 
 Your lovingest daughter, 
 
 M. Benson. 
 
 {To hey brother Arthur.) 
 
 Lambeth Palace, S.E. 
 
 (1884.) 
 
 We had the most awfully amusing dinner * on 
 Wednesday night while you were out. I had a 
 Sheriff to take me in who talked a good deal, and 
 besovight me with the greatest earnestness to learn 
 cooking. Mother's health was going to have been 
 
 * The Festival of the Sons of the Clergy, always celebrated 
 by a dinner at Lambeth. 
 
 85
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 proposed again, only she had it crossed out. What 
 the Mayor could have found to say about it more 
 than last time I can't think. The speeches were 
 amusing, for every one spoke as if their connection 
 with the Sons of the Clergy was the one bright spot 
 in their lives. 
 
 Nellie is getting so awfully energetic. Ever since 
 I have been home she has been doing hardly any- 
 thing except committees and visiting and taking 
 classes. I feel most frightfully idle. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Adding Ion Park. 
 Croydon. 
 
 Oct. nth. 
 
 Please tell Nellie that 6 boys came to-day — I 
 don't know the name of one of them so I haven't 
 put it down — the very self-sufficient and conversa- 
 tional, light-haired boy in the third class. I made 
 too many mistakes in the first hymn to try any 
 more, and I gave them such a dull lesson — ^but I 
 made it last till 4 o'clock. 
 
 Her Oxford life came to an end in due course. 
 Mrs. Lea writes — 
 
 " In 1886 Maggie got her First in the Women's 
 Honour School of Philosophy and most characteris- 
 tically announced the fact to some of her friends on 
 a post-card, in the words — scribbled almost illegibly : 
 ' I have got a 1st ' (sic). My brother, who had 
 coached her, wrote to tell me the same thing, adding, 
 
 86
 
 LONDON 
 
 'That wretched "Women's" Examination: if it 
 had only been Greats ! No one will realise how 
 brilliantly she has done.' 
 
 " I think, however, that notwithstanding the 
 feminine designation of the examination, the fact 
 that she had done so brilliantly did somehow make 
 itself very distinctly known and felt. In spite of 
 her still very girlish appearance and manner, no one 
 could ever regard her now as just a wonderful child 
 with a wonderful future before her. That future 
 had already begun. 
 
 " We used to tell her at College that she looked 
 like a nun, and that the dress of all others that suited 
 her best was the religious habit of sombre black with 
 a white band across her brow, which she once wore 
 at a College fancy dress dance when she appeared 
 as our patroness — Lady Margaret herself. She 
 indeed said of herself long afterwards that she was 
 ' distressingly meek ' in those days. It was impos- 
 sible but that in the new life opening before her with 
 such countless interests and opportunities she should 
 not lose something of this same meek and cloistered 
 air ; impossible but that she should come into her 
 own heritage and be made aware of the powers 
 within her, and within her reach. A certain under- 
 lying shyness and reserve she never lost, but both 
 her outward manner and I think the expression of 
 her face changed considerably in the next few years. 
 
 " Her conversational power needed only oppor- 
 tunity to prove itself. She was keen and still 
 almost remorseless in argument, although she never 
 lost her temper or her curious power of self-detach- 
 ment, and she loved a worthy antagonist. She 
 would return again and again to a debated point, 
 
 87
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 and had an extraordinary gift of making her meaning 
 clear by the use of illustrations and even by paradox, 
 but I don't think she ever fenced with words for the 
 mere love of fencing, or laid herself open to the 
 charge of defending ' ten impossible propositions 
 before breakfast,' as some of her family really might 
 be accused of doing. Her written style was terse — 
 too terse and condensed indeed for her letters to 
 give entire satisfaction, at that time, to those who 
 longed for them ; though it matured and mellowed 
 considerably as she got older. But the terseness 
 had a dry, pungent flavour of its own ; a something 
 of the brevity which is the soul of wit. ' But if my 
 letters are too short and tell you nothing,' she 
 writes, 'it's a sign that I'm a dull person and can 
 do no better. And if I can do no better, then it's 
 not my fault, but I'll try all the same to improve. 
 Which sounds like Beth's argument when somebody 
 said that one of the babies squinted, which was — (i) 
 that he didn't squint, (2) that all babies squinted, 
 (3) that he would get over it.' 
 
 " Her face, too, became more mobile and ex- 
 pressive in these years ; the keen humour and quick 
 intellect betrayed themselves more and more in the 
 play of eye and lip. Her eyes indeed never lost 
 their quality of earnestness and purpose, but this 
 was often now intermingled with lighter moods — 
 especially a kind of half-tender, half-teasing mockery, 
 which indeed had its counterpart in her nature. 
 
 " I did not see a great deal of her or for long at 
 a time for a year or two after she left College ; but 
 she wrote often, and I gathered something and 
 inferred a great deal more about herself and her life 
 from her brief epistles."
 
 LONDON 
 
 At the age of twenty-one, then, Maggie said good- 
 bye to Oxford. I do not trace any particular sadness 
 about her farewells. She had made great friend- 
 ships, and indeed perhaps felt, with her sense of 
 responsibility about her relationships, that she had 
 as many people on her hands as she could well manage. 
 Then, too, she felt that her family were committed 
 to a great adventure in the world, and she desired 
 to be with them. She had missed her mother and 
 her sister very much, and had felt at times as if her 
 place was with them. She had, indeed, proposed 
 to finish her Oxford course a yea.T before, without 
 taking her final examination. 
 
 In truth, she was interested in real life even more 
 than in academic study. Her own religion, and her 
 philosophy as well, were not things to be enjoyed 
 apart, in which she could isolate herself, but ideas 
 to be worked into life. She had partly got over her 
 old diffidence, and had found that she could make 
 friends and keep them, play a part, hold her own 
 with others, and though from henceforth she had 
 her own quiet background of thought and art, it 
 was always subordinated to real life, and made to 
 minister to it and enrich it. 
 
 In these years I was little at home. I had gone 
 to Eton as a master in 1885, and my work had 
 increased rapidly. In the holida3's I often travelled 
 and paid visits, and thus fell somewhat out of the 
 home current. In the summer, we usually all went 
 together to Switzerland, but while Nell}^ was a very 
 active mountaineer, Maggie could never do much in 
 the way of walking. In 1885, wc had a singular 
 adventure at Zermatt ; on arriving there, Maggie 
 was taken ill, and was found to be suffering from 
 
 89
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 scarlet fever. The hotel-keeper, Seller, was told. 
 Maggie was moved to a secluded wing, which was 
 isolated by carbolic sheets ; Nelly devoted her 
 holiday to nursing, and I think rather enjoyed it. 
 I remember the amazement of the little Swiss nurse, 
 when Maggie became convalescent, and the two 
 girls, to get exercise, fitted up a sort of badminton 
 court, and played a game with hair-brushes as 
 bats. 
 
 As a rule, she spent much of her time in Switzer- 
 land in reading and drawing ; walking did not suit 
 her, and she became troubled by stiffness in her 
 limbs, which ultimately proved to be a threatening 
 of arthritis. At this time, however, she took her 
 ailments very serenely, and did not allow them to 
 interfere with her work. 
 
 There are fewer letters of this date because she 
 was living at home and discussing everything in 
 heaven and earth with her mother and sister, though 
 she kept up her correspondence with friends. The 
 letters I have are mostly written on visits. 
 
 One pleasant feature of the life was the constant 
 presence of the chaplains, who acted as secretaries 
 and ecclesiastical aides-de-camp. They had their 
 own rooms, but lived as members of the household 
 with us, joining in anything that was going forward. 
 Maggie could never live at close quarters with people 
 without desiring to understand their point of view, 
 and though she was always at her best in a tete-d-tete, 
 she was often consulted by them on small problems 
 which arose ; and all this time was gaining an easier 
 touch with people generally, her old diffidence giving 
 place to an eager and intelligent sympathy, always 
 lit up by touches of irony, and by her quick eye for 
 
 go
 
 LONDON 
 
 modes of thought and mannerisms, and even 
 foibles, so that she could give, as I often found 
 myself, a personal touch to her arguments which 
 revealed how closely one had been studied and 
 observed. 
 
 These few years, then, from 1886 to 1890, were 
 an interesting and delightful time for her. No one 
 could be morbid or haunted or unduly fanciful in 
 Nelly's company ; her humour and common-sense, 
 and a power of almost complimentary ridicule, 
 swept cobwebs away very swiftly. Maggie wrote 
 and reflected much, did much careful painting, went 
 out in London, stayed with friends, and though she 
 never flung herself unasked into intimacies, yet she 
 held the threads of many deep friendships in her 
 hands, and then as always felt a strong sense of 
 responsibility about friends, and a great desire to 
 be useful and to give her best, to advise and cheer 
 and sustain, none of it roughly or summarily, but 
 with a gentle touch and a fine understanding of 
 temperament. She painted my portrait about this 
 time, and I well remember her astonishing patience 
 about it, her readiness to continue or to desist 
 exactly as I wished or did not wish. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Addington Park. 
 (1887.) 
 
 My Dearest Mother, 
 
 We had a most successful journey yesterday. 
 Hugh was quite well all the way and feasted on 
 pears and sponge cake and a large amount of tea 
 at various stations. We had our carriage mostly 
 to ourselves — except for one ciuict gentleman. 
 
 91
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 Hugh composed parodies on Macaulay most of the 
 way down. I found he had intentions of his own 
 about reading Macaulay's history. 
 
 Macaulay seems to be good for Hugh. He is 
 interrupting my letter by asking a series of questions 
 about Habeas Corpus and the National debt and 
 so forth. 
 
 {To a Friend.) 
 
 Hotel Belle Vuc. 
 
 Mentone. 
 
 (1887.) 
 
 The place is most lovely— looking over the 
 Mediterranean with gardens with palms and orange- 
 trees in front, and a wood of olives at the back — and 
 the town is beautiful, too. Carnival was going on 
 yesterday, and I went into the streets a little — and 
 got thoroughly pelted in the course of the afternoon ; 
 some of the things were rather jolly — a gigantic car 
 with people dressed like cats sitting on it — pelting 
 everyone as they went along, right into the windows 
 of the houses, too. 
 
 Do write to me some time, if you have time — for 
 a wonder I am not very happy just now — and as 
 that is a tolerably rare occurrence, I don't suppose 
 I bear it with the heroism that might be expected. 
 
 How are you getting on ? do tell me. I hope 
 you have got more used to it again now, and don't 
 mind it so much. 
 
 92
 
 ADDINGTON 
 
 {To a Frieiid.) 
 
 The Lodgo, 
 Marlborough College. 
 (1887.) 
 
 Thanks much for your story which I will return 
 as soon as I get home. I hope you haven't wanted 
 it before, but you might have written if you had. 
 
 I think in some points it's distinctly good, and I 
 think, too, it's a pity that you should write melo- 
 drama before you try to write stories seriously. I 
 was amused at the abrupt way in which you cut the 
 knot. If you have written any other stories, do let 
 me read them. What is your pamphlet on Wonien's 
 Education called, and where can I get it ? I remem- 
 ber you told me with sternness that I needn't think 
 it would be presented to me. 
 
 This place is so nice — it's my brother's last term 
 here, so that we are staying here for Sunday. Don't 
 you like staying with people you don't know at all ? 
 I do, because 1 feel quite a different person— and 
 generally a nicer person. 
 
 {To a Friend.) 
 
 Addington Park, 
 Croydon. 
 (1888.) 
 
 I hadn't meant to be bitter, really. I only put 
 it so strongly partly to show you forcibly — (and I 
 am afraid it was rather too forcible) that I hadn't 
 sprung my own imaginations upon you, but only 
 accepted too readily what you said. I know I am 
 
 93
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 always doing that sort of thing. Ruth told me once 
 she was sure I should believe it if she said she had 
 
 committed a murder. 
 
 {To her brother Arthur.) 
 
 Addington Park, 
 Croydon. 
 (1888.) 
 
 I have been arranging with the Headmistress 
 of the High School here to teach logic next term. 
 She appears to have a great theory of " everybody 
 doing some work in the world" so she is intensely 
 amiable to me — so amiable that I am beginning 
 to have fearful misgivings — more especially as I 
 find it more difficult than I expected to write logic 
 lectures which people will understand who don't 
 know logic already. 
 
 She and Hugh went with Sir John and Lady 
 Fowler, whose son, now Sir Montague Fowler,, was 
 my father's chaplain, to see the Forth Bridge, and 
 then in their yacht up to Ross-shire. She writes — 
 
 [To her Mother.) 
 
 Great Western Hotel, 
 Oban. 
 Thursday. (1888.) 
 
 Dearest Mother, 
 
 As Sir John sent you a telegram from Edin- 
 burgh, I didn't think it necessary to write. We 
 have been having great fun. We stayed at his 
 house at the Forth on Tuesday night and on Wednes- 
 day started by going all over the Forth Bridge — right 
 up to the top in a cage, and about from pier to pier 
 
 94
 
 BAMBOROUGH 
 
 of the bridge in a steam launch. Then we went on 
 the steamer on to Stirling, saw the town and castle 
 there, and on here, where we arrived about lo at 
 night. We go on the yacht this afternoon round 
 Skye, and get to Loch Broom on Saturday afternoon. 
 These details are all infused with the spirit of the 
 scene — I wonder I haven't got the very style. We 
 make jokes at such a rate and have such chaffs. 
 Hugh is flourishing and awfully jolly and happy. 
 I am very glad you are coming on Tuesday, though 
 I did really enjoy yesterday a great deal — but I 
 can't be " lively and sought after " like some of the 
 guests. It is nice, however, I do really think, and 
 they are all of them awfully kind. We shan't get 
 much Greek or German done before you come. 
 There is only Monday and Tuesday to do it in. 
 Your loving daughter, 
 
 Margaret Benson. 
 
 {To Miss Gent [Mrs. Lea].) 
 
 Bamborough Castle, 
 
 Noithumberland. 
 
 (1888.) 
 
 This is a perfectly delicious place on the sea — 
 with everything which a seaside place ought to have 
 — good bathing namely, and a beach quiet enough 
 for one to behave in an idiotic and childish manner. 
 It's a lovely place for sketching, too. 
 
 Nellie and I are making spasmodic attempts to 
 learn to swim ; it comforts me that she is as great a 
 coward as I — and more still that my youngest 
 brother, who is a worse coward than either of us — 
 
 9.5
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 has managed to learn to swim somehow — so there's 
 hope for me still. 
 
 I know you will think this a ver}^ dull letter — but 
 can a thistle bring forth figs ? 
 
 {To Miss Gent.) 
 
 Addington Park. 
 (1888.) 
 
 That puppy is too charming for words. I have 
 got a little cat who sits with him upon my chimney- 
 piece. The cat looks simply contemptuous, the 
 puppy beseeching, but a cock (of the same make) 
 stands behind and blesses the union. Tell me who 
 to call them after. I think that is such a nice plan. 
 
 {To a Friend.) 
 
 Addington Park, 
 Croydon. 
 
 (18S8.) 
 
 I was very glad to get your letter last night. If 
 you really feel that for yourself life is no longer 
 worth living, try to make your life worth living for 
 someone else, or for some other end. Again, you 
 said in the garden that religion and duty were the 
 only safeguards. Here I agree with you too, — I 
 think they are the only permanent safeguards, 
 though for the time other things may serve ; but 
 as for saying that you have not got these, — as if 
 that made the case hopeless — that I think is alto- 
 gether an untrue way of putting it. If you feel you 
 want — need — these things, that at any rate is the 
 first step to getting them. 
 
 96
 
 ADDfNGTON 
 
 I want you to do two things only at present, 
 and they are not very difficult. You don't believe 
 perhaps enough to pray — so I want you, instead of 
 that, to take two or three minutes in the morning to 
 think about the day, just with the intention, not to 
 make yourself happy— that you say and believe is 
 impossible just now — but to do what you feel would 
 be most worth while doing, among the ordinary 
 things of daily life, I mean, — what you would do 
 ordinarily if 3^ou had taken duty rather than feeling 
 as your standard. And the second thing is to read 
 daily also one of the gospels, — St. Luke's, I think — 
 for a certain set time, a quarter of an hour perhaps, 
 with attention. If you don't believe the historical 
 facts, it doesn't matter — it is the teaching which 
 I want you to think of, independently of the question 
 as to who was the real author of it. 
 
 I don't expect this to make you at once either 
 to feel pleasure in what you do — that would merely 
 be aiming at feeling of a different kind — or to 
 believe instantly in the historical part of the 
 gospel, for if that was quick it would hardly be 
 safe — but I don't think if you read you can help 
 gradually coming to believing in the teaching as 
 giving you some standing-ground outside mere 
 feeling. 
 
 Don't think I am hard on you in things I say — 
 you know that if I were, I shouldn't be writing to 
 you like this. 
 
 I want you to fix these times for yourself, but 
 to keep to them, when they are fixed, quite rigidly 
 for a month. Don't read quickly — read as you 
 would a book quite new to you — write out a summary 
 
 97 H
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 of points, if that helps you, or analyse it as j'ou 
 would with a book which you wanted really to study. 
 I mean take any way — you probably know what 
 way is best for yourself — which gives you the most 
 real grasp of it. 
 
 (To her Mother.) 
 
 Preen Manor, 
 Shrewsbury, 
 (1888.) 
 
 I wish there was a good deal more of me — Miss 
 Wordsworth recommended a plan in one Bible 
 Class for supplementing your character — and that 
 was somehow to get the supplement from your 
 friends. I don't see how to do it, not being naturally 
 a vampire. 
 
 Maggie was now beginning to go about a good 
 deal, both with Nellie and alone, and to pay country- 
 house visits. I went with her several times on such 
 occasions. It was always a rather serious business 
 with her. Her shyness lay very deep, and she was 
 diffident about taking the initiative or starting con- 
 versation. But this was by no means apparent, for 
 she always had a serene and smiling air, and seemed 
 easy to please. Her spirits rose, as she became used 
 to a circle, and her talk was then eager and animated, 
 with incisive flashes, which contrasted charmingly 
 with her gentleness of demeanour ; while her sym- 
 pathy, her interest in variety of temperament, and 
 her desire to understand another's point of view, 
 rather than to advance her own, made her a most 
 attractive companion. 
 
 98
 
 CARLISLE 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Rose Castle, 
 
 Carlisle. 
 
 (1888.) 
 
 My Dearest Mother, 
 
 Reams wouldn't contain all I have to say 
 to you — however most of it I shall be able to say 
 
 verbatim. K like Canon Hole — " warmed up 
 
 and made herself uncommon pleasant." I went 
 out riding with her once or twice. After we had 
 well started — I on her horse — she told me that the 
 horse was by way of giving one tremendous kick. 
 I expected to be laid full length, but somehow the 
 kick didn't come off. (Nellie is talking all the time). 
 
 Nellie's visit I was very glad of— she made K 
 
 talk on friendship — what love really is^ you know. / 
 should never have done it by myself, but I am glad 
 
 it's done, especially as K felt uncomfortable ; 
 
 that is rather good for her — she said she was afraid 
 1 thought her idea of friendship low ! I said (for 
 we had had rather a fierce discussion) that I thought 
 she made more out of her kind of friendships — of 
 the good-fellowship sort — than I should, but I 
 didn't think it came to as much as the other. She 
 said also she was low because she thought that 
 as she hadn't the same idea of friendship as 
 I had, it would make the friendship between us 
 less than it would be otherwise. That was awk- 
 ward — but it was possible to make matters clearer. 
 I said that if we were going to be real friends, it 
 wouldn't much matter whether she had the idea 
 beforehand or not— and that any amount of having 
 the idea wouldn't make it come off. 
 
 I am sorry this is so incoherent, but Nellie has 
 been talking to me and warbling at intervals. We 
 
 99
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 had a tiring journey yesterday — partly I had been 
 
 sitting up with K , but also we couldn't get 
 
 much to eat on the way — our last attempt resulted 
 in pieces of ham and bread in paper bags ! 
 
 I am simply in love with this place, and more 
 than half inclined to be so with Miss Goodwin, onlj^ 
 I can't find anything to say to her. I am making 
 resolutions to go about the garden more at home — I 
 don't think it would need more than a general 
 interest. Don't say you don't think I shall do it. 
 
 I am getting so awfully interested in what I 
 am writing that I want you to read it. Also I feel 
 this, that altogether one has been so much used 
 to the idea of the divinity of Christ as to have 
 overlooked the humanity, I think partly from the 
 dread of being too material. Just as — what is 
 really the same thing — from the fear of having not a 
 sufficiently pure love of goodness for its own sake, 
 I have missed out the personal element in thinking 
 about God. I don't think I can go on — because 
 Nellie has come up again. What I rather feel is 
 that I have been taking things the wrong way round 
 for so long, and have therefore come to a complete 
 stop — and that if I could look at it the other way 
 round it might make possible what seems so entirely 
 impossible now. 
 
 This must be awfully confused, but I think you 
 may understand it, and I am rather afraid of talking 
 for fear that this idea might perhaps — not go away 
 from me, for I think it's true — but cease to be 
 living to me. 
 
 Your loving daughter, 
 
 Margaret Benson. 
 
 Please give my best love to Papa. 
 
 100
 
 ADDINGTON 
 
 [T'o her hvothcr Hugh.) 
 
 Addington Park, 
 Croydon. 
 (1888.) 
 
 Dearest Hugh, 
 
 What a noble, self-denying boy you are ! 
 When I heard your message * about that picture 
 I covered my face with my hands and burst into a 
 torrent of irrepressible tears mingled with incoherent 
 words of gratitude and astonishment. In fact, 
 whenever I think of the extent of your noble sacri- 
 fice, emotion so completely overcomes me that I 
 doubt if I shall ever be able to set to work at that 
 picture. 
 
 By the way Herkomer is coming to paint Papa. 
 Shall I ask him to toss you off a few trifles by the 
 way ? Of course they wouldn't be as good as mine, 
 but they might do for wall-furniture so to speak — to 
 cover any holes in your paper. 
 
 I think that is all I have got to say. I couldn't 
 refrain from putting pen to paper to thank you. 
 Your loving sister, 
 
 M. B. 
 
 {To her brother Hugh.) 
 
 Addington Park, 
 Croydon. 
 (1888.) 
 
 Dearest Hugh, 
 
 Many happery Turns of the day. I haven't 
 got you a " pressink " yet — but if I can (or you 
 can) think of a suitable one I will get it. 
 
 * Hugh had said that he wished Maggie to paint him a picture 
 for his room at Eton, but that if she had not time, it might be 
 deferred. 
 
 lOI
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 Truro was splendid — but why weren't you there 
 to carry Papa's train ? He had two train-bearers 
 in scarlet cassocks and skull caps, and surplices. 
 Punch had consequently a paragraph on Scarletina 
 at Truro. Nothing particular has happened since. 
 It is simply disgustingly cold, and yesterday was so 
 foggy that Papa and Mama took 3I hours driving 
 down from London, a man walking with a lantern 
 before the horses most of the way. I lost my way 
 in Croydon and had to inquire at a house. I was 
 afraid of going round and round like Lucy Gray. 
 
 Au revoir, 
 
 Yours, 
 M. B. 
 
 {To key brother Hugh. 
 
 Lambeth Palace, S.E 
 {1888.) 
 
 As I well know what exquisite agony it 
 was to you last term " not to be able to write to 
 me " (as you said) because I hadn't written to you 
 often enough, I think I had better begin early 
 in the term. 
 
 Nellie made an awful random remark about one 
 of the speeches. She said it was like a stew made 
 out of meat which had been already served up on 
 the joint ! ! ! ! She wasn't ashamed to WTite that 
 remark down on paper and pass it to me during the 
 meeting. 
 
 102
 
 LONDON 
 
 {To her brother Hugh.) 
 
 Lambeth Palace, S.E. 
 (1888.) 
 
 We had a Queen at our last garden-part}^ we 
 had, and as Mar and Par were both ordered down 
 to Windsor to dine with the other Queen (of England 
 I mean) — we are so sought after by the Royal 
 Family — Nellie and I had to entertain the first 
 queen, who was from Hawaii. She had an inter- 
 preter, who told her that Wiclif was the first Arch- 
 bishop — and stopped her by a nod when she wanted 
 to put her sponge cake in her tea. She and her 
 sister-in-law got awfully excited when they saw 
 a train out of the window. 
 
 Your kind master Dr. Warre dined here a few 
 days ago. I asked him if you were a good 
 boy. 
 
 {To her brother Hugh.) 
 
 Riffel Alp. 
 
 Dearest Hugh, 
 
 I have intended to write to you ever since 
 we have been here — why I have not done so I have 
 not now time further to particularise (as Nellie 
 and I used to say in our historical essays of any fact 
 we had forgotten) . 
 
 Nellie and Fred have started off to the Rothhorn 
 in such fig ! My ! You should have seen them. 
 They are to get photographed at Zermatt when they 
 come down. Yesterday it was discovered that the 
 soles of Fred's shoes were more or less worn through, 
 
 103
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 also the side of the heel, and a large hole at the toe, 
 and another which looked as if he had put his ice- 
 axe through it at the side, (not to mention minor 
 matters) — so we had to take them to be mended (?) 
 and this morning they were delayed until the boots 
 (the prettiest little boots in the family) came back 
 so patched that there was hardly a thread to identify 
 them with the old boots. Still he looked very 
 professional, and so did Nellie, though just at 
 present that beaming countenance is more healthy 
 than beautiful, as her nose is of a lively orange 
 hue from the burning on the Breithorn. Mama 
 and I accompanied them to the door and in a sort 
 of triumphal procession down the hill. Mama wanted 
 to commend her to the guide, so she besought me 
 to say in German " take care of her." I didn't 
 know what it was and didn't wish to think, so she 
 did it by tragic gestures and the two words " Sorgen 
 Sie " which she remembered as we were going down 
 the hill. 
 
 {To her brother Hugh.) 
 
 Lambeth Palace, S.E. 
 (1888.) 
 
 Are you going to bring the fox home ? Beth 
 wants " your Mama to write and tell him he mustn't 
 have it. Foxes are so sly and it will be sure to kill 
 him when it gets older." 
 
 I have begun animal painting. I mean having 
 lessons in it. I have a dog about the size of a donkey 
 to sit to me. So heavy that when Mr. Nettleship 
 
 104
 
 ^ ONDON 
 
 (the man who teaches me) and his master try to 
 tug him into the right position, they rise exhausted 
 from the vain effort. 
 
 We had a great cricket match here the other day 
 of girls — two elevens. One of the Talbots brought 
 an II against us — they came cocksure that they were 
 going to win. We " beat them " with 3 wickets 
 to go down. Four of the Talbots played — 4 others 
 looked on, including Mr. Talbot (who came out of 
 the Diocesan Conference which was going on in the 
 library) and Mrs. Talbot. They all got sadder 
 and sadder and some of them crosser and crosser. 
 They have been still further humiliated since then. 
 The Prodigy * of three years old, dear little tot, only 
 got 7 runs in the first innings in the Eton and 
 Harrow Match, caught out 2nd ball in the second 
 innings, and missed a splendid catch. 
 
 {To her brother Hugh.) 
 
 Lambeth Palace, S.E. 
 (1888.) 
 
 We are all jubilant here.f It is simply glorious. 
 
 Dr. Warre has sent the poem up for us to see 
 so I am going to read it — as ahem ! you didn't let 
 me see it before you sent it in although I hear you 
 read it to Beth — but I am not feeling at all jealous — 
 oh no ! 
 
 * Hugh ahvays maintained that one of the Talbot boys, 
 younger than himself, was constantly held up to him as a 
 prodigy of excellence in all respects. 
 
 t Hugh had just won the prize for an English poem at Eton. 
 
 105
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 {To her brother Hugh.) 
 
 Addington Park, 
 Croydon. 
 
 I have meant many times to write, but the 
 days slip by like jelly or like that bacon of which 
 it was said " you puts it into your mouth and you 
 think you has it, and my ! ain't it wanished." 
 
 I have been painting Watch again. He doesn't 
 appreciate it. I supply him with minute bits of 
 biscuit for which he is mildly grateful, until he gets 
 too cross. He lies chiefly with his head away from 
 me — he goes to sleep and rolls backwards off the 
 bench on which I put him, with an intensely injured 
 face — he behaves generally in an irritating manner. 
 
 Fred has gone to Braemore. He intends to shoot 
 a royal. I asked him to give me the head but he 
 wouldn't promise, wasn't it selfish ? 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Truro. 
 {1889.) 
 
 Yesterday was very nice — E 's children are 
 
 jolly and so well brought up. Those little boys of 
 4 and 5 handed things at tea in a way which would 
 have set an example to Fred and Hugh — and her 
 baby is most jolly — eleven months old — it crawled 
 about the floor making straight, with the most 
 engaging confidence, to anybody who was eating 
 
 cake — then it went and played the piano. E 
 
 was as idyllic as ever. By the way, Miss Hedley 
 
 106
 
 TRURO 
 
 can't keep me after Monday — so I go to the Cornishes 
 till Thursday — after that if you really want me to 
 stay, Nellie Hill asked me to go there and might be 
 able to take me then, if Salisbury is at all on the 
 way home. But consider that a Bishop's trial 
 doesn't come every year — and there isn't even a 
 conference or a Jubilee this summer. 
 
 [To her Mother. 
 
 Truro. 
 {1S89.) 
 
 Do you know I can't help rather liking Miss 
 
 B . I think from all accounts — and from 
 
 certain facts that seem to verify it she has some 
 ground for her views about the state of the school. 
 It seems they got awfully lax — and crammed tremen- 
 dous also — the last part of the time. Her views 
 are not extreme about examinations either. I 
 should like to shake and to slap her at times — I 
 should also like to take away all her adoring friends 
 — and I always want to disagree with her — but 
 
 after that she is not so bad. I like F much 
 
 better than I ever thought I should, but one is 
 always deceived when people are ill. 
 
 {To her Mother, on a visit.) 
 
 (1889.) 
 
 Mr. A is very melancholy and very angry. 
 
 It was rather appalling at dinner last night — all 
 the guests had gone — but Jack, who has been 
 
 107
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 taking Kate's part, was there, Jane wouldn't 
 
 speak either to Kate or to him. Mr. A was 
 
 angry with him and would hardly speak to Kate. 
 Kate was very low and hardly spoke to anybody — 
 You can imagine what it was like ! 
 
 {To hey brother Arthur.) 
 
 Strangways Terrace, 
 Truro. 
 (March 9, 1889.) 
 
 I have quite made up my mind I shall never go 
 over to the Church of Rome if the ceremonies are 
 at all like High Church Ritual in England. The 
 prostrations of some of the clergy at the Cathedral 
 are quite too much for me. But fancy that being 
 possible in a place like this — when it was said " that 
 there was no need to go to Rome, because Rome 
 was coming to us " when we had candles to give 
 light in the choir at Kenwyn. 
 
 [To a Friend.) 
 
 Addington. 
 (1889.) 
 
 My logic girls did their examinations so nicely — 
 I felt inclined to kiss them all round. The only 
 irritating part was that the girl who had worked 
 worst in the term did the best paper, so I tried to 
 ease my mind by scolding her and giving her a very 
 bad mark for term's work. I am haunted now, 
 
 108
 
 CAMBRIDGE 
 
 however, by a fear that they did so well only because 
 I gave them much too easy a paper. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Hill Side, 
 
 Chesterton Road, 
 
 Cambridge. 
 June 6th (1890). 
 
 Dearest Mother, 
 
 I arrived here all safely last night. I hadn't 
 time for the King's Cross train so I went straight 
 to Liverpool Street and it brought me here exact!}'' 
 at the right time. I hate what I call presence of 
 mind. Fred came to dinner. He is awfully nervous 
 about his Tripos, and thinks that every remark 
 everyone makes has a meaning in it. Then we 
 went out to an evening party, which was great 
 fun, at St. John's. 
 
 However I shall see you on Saturday. I wrote 
 (Greek aorist — does not exclude the fact that the 
 writing is done at the present time) this because I 
 thought you might otherwise imagine that I had a 
 fainting fit in the train which ended in syncope 
 and death. 
 
 Would you mind asking Nellie for Long's address 
 because I am writing to tell him to come on Monday. 
 It's important and concerns my future fame, he 
 being the picture framer. 
 
 Your lovingest daughter, 
 
 Margaret Benson. 
 
 There will be eleven Moral Science Examiners 
 at dinner this evening. Your preserver among 
 the rest. 
 
 109
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 {To hey Mother.) 
 
 (1890.) 
 
 My Dearest Mother, 
 
 There is something I want very much to 
 
 write about. I had a long talk to B the other 
 
 day about the principle of her not talking to me about 
 certain things because I was young in my mind — she 
 feels strongly against it, as you know, and as you do, 
 but couldn't defend it much, and the ultimate point 
 was that you didn't wish it — and had said so to 
 her. 
 
 Once I did think so too, but now I don't — you 
 know that I don't wish to know things for the mere 
 sake of knowing them — but it does seem to me that 
 I have reached a point, at which knowing so little 
 as I do does really separate me from other people 
 
 — B couldn't ultimately deny this though she 
 
 did at first. Her argument was that it was much 
 better for me not to — that it would only disgust 
 me. I daresay it would disgust me — I'm sure I 
 hope so — ^but at the same time I do feel that with 
 her for instance I come to a deadlock now, since 
 this cuts off from me the possibility of knowing in 
 any thorough sort of way the problems that she 
 (as other people) has to deal with. In so manj^ 
 ways we have come to a stop too. The things that 
 are problems to me are out of her line altogether. 
 With all this I daresay there is very little that she 
 could tell me — would care to I mean — and as far 
 as that goes I have nothing to do with it — and 
 certain instincts in her which are against it^I don't 
 want to interfere with — only I should like her to feel 
 free about it, and you see she is naturally so par- 
 ticularly careful. 
 
 no
 
 LONDON 
 
 I fear you will feel about this as you did about 
 
 Nellie and C . As you know, I don't want it 
 
 for its own sake, only when you are brought near 
 to the alternative of knowing things you don't 
 like, or not really knowing people you do like, I 
 don't see how it's possible to choose the latter. Of 
 course I am very vague as to what I want to know, 
 and it is just that I am not able to understand the 
 questions that touch her in their real bearings that 
 bothers me. 
 
 My writing is getting on more or less. I am just 
 getting to Immortality, which pleases me, I am 
 going to cut Martineau out. 
 
 We haven't come across any very nice people 
 so far. 
 
 Please give my love to everybody and Beth. 
 Your lovingest daughter, 
 
 Margaret Benson. 
 
 Maggie became a very good horsewoman and 
 loved riding. We had a charming little cob, called 
 Ajax, which she used to ride, and taught to jump. 
 Very fussy the little beast was at first, but there 
 came a real understanding between them — and she 
 was quite successful. Becket was a horse that 
 pulled, and as everyone demurred to riding him, 
 my father insisted on doing so, to show what 
 sympathy could do. She writes to me from 
 Lambeth — 
 
 Papa rode Becket himself ! He behaved beauti- 
 fully, but it wasn't quite a fair trial, because we had 
 an empty row, and we had orders to pull up our 
 
 III
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 horses, whenever Papa wanted to stop. Still it 
 was a good thing, and showed that Becket can't 
 yet be guided quite " by a thread " as the groom 
 says. 
 
 {To her brother Arthur.) 
 
 Lambeth Palace, S.E. 
 Feb. 13, 1890, 
 
 We were very sorry you couldn't come up to the 
 trial * last week, it was really interesting. What 
 pleases me most is the way in which the lawyers 
 got pulled up by Papa. It is extraordinary how 
 much more he knows about it than anyone else. 
 On one point Sir Walter Phillimore was humbly 
 taking down the names of books to refer to — and 
 even he was far better up in the subject than Sir 
 Horace Davey. 
 
 {To a friend. 
 
 Addington Park, 
 Croydon. 
 {1890.) 
 
 I can't help being astonished at a man j so 
 absolutely saintly making such a tremendous fuss 
 about such trifles, or if he doesn't think them trifles 
 I think his views must be horribly materialistic. 
 
 * Of the Bishop of Lincoln, 
 ■j- The Bishop of Lincoln. 
 
 112
 
 LONDON 
 
 All the same I hope it may go in his favour— if it 
 doesn't, 1 wonder what he'll do. 
 
 We had a funny week last week. On ]\Ionday I 
 went up to London because there was to be an 
 inspection at one of the schools of which I am Man- 
 ager — and I thought the Managers would be expected 
 to attend. When I got there I found I was the 
 only Manager — so I was paraded over the school — 
 listened to the examination and criticised the 
 sewing ! and rather enjoyed myself — 
 
 {To her brother Arthur.) 
 
 Lambeth Palace, S.E, 
 
 The K s are staying here — Mrs. K fixes 
 
 one with her eye and says, " How very sad it is " 
 whenever the forged letters * are alluded to. Isn't 
 it a most uncharitable view of the situation ? I 
 believe I am distinguished by being the only one of 
 
 the family of whom Mrs. K can't find anything 
 
 flattering to say. She makes an attempt always by 
 asking me whether I am still lecturing at Croydon, 
 and if my lectures arc going to be printed — but it 
 doesn't get any farther. 
 
 We are all rather low here — physically, not 
 mentally however. Mama is over-tired, Papa is not 
 well — I've had a raging cold, and Nellie is beginning 
 another— but still nobody is depressed. What we 
 should have been at Addington if we had stayed I 
 can't imagine ; I wish your holidays fell at the time 
 when we were up here — Sundays especially are so 
 much nicer. 
 
 * The Parnell Letters. 
 113
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 ILLNESS AND TRAVEL 
 
 THx\t first happy stage of Maggie's life, opening 
 serenely on to new interests, and with the old slowly 
 acquired powers breaking softly into bloom, came to 
 an end with her sister Nellie's death in the autumn 
 of 1890. There was diphtheria in the village — it 
 was before the days when the cure for diphtheria 
 had been perfected. Nellie was taken ill, and sent 
 for a doctor — my father and mother were away — the 
 doctor said she must be isolated, and the last time 
 Maggie saw her, except for one brief glimpse just 
 before she died, was as she was gleefully collecting 
 books and papers in the schoolroom ; she was going 
 to have a few quiet days, she said, waving Maggie 
 away to a safe distance, and she was going to work 
 off arrears. 
 
 The illness was short and severe, and the suffering 
 was great ; but Nellie never lost her courage : it 
 ended in heart-failure, and she knew she was dying. 
 She sent messages to all of us, and just before the 
 end said with a smile to my father that she wondered 
 what it was going to be like. 
 
 The day of Nellie's funeral was bright and 
 autumnal, and I walked side by side with Maggie 
 behind the coffin, through the garden, and down to 
 
 114
 
 ILLNESS AND TRAVEL 
 
 the little church. Maggie was pale and smiling 
 through her tears, and I was conscious that there 
 was a great tenderness about her, as if she had 
 vowed herself to fill so far as possible, Nellie's place 
 as daughter and sister. That, I think, was always 
 Maggie's way. She did not think of her own loss 
 or her own grief, though Nellie's companionship 
 was her great support ; for Nellie by her gaiety and 
 eagerness, her freedom from shyness, her love of 
 new people and ever multiplied relations, her over- 
 flowing spirits, had given Maggie just the sort of 
 encouragement she most needed. But a great 
 change like that always brought to Maggie a sense 
 of her responsibility and duties to be done. 
 
 Nellie had always enjoyed having an understand- 
 ing with others, and standing in a perfectly definite 
 relation with them, so that when she died, we each 
 felt that our special companion and confidante was 
 gone. She had reflective moods, and pondered 
 much over the part that she might pla.y in life ; but 
 she was saved from introspection by the wide 
 range of her interests. Her sympathies were in- 
 stinctive, and she had far more power than Maggie 
 of entering by imagination into the lives of others ; 
 this was exhibited, I used to think, in her extra- 
 ordinary gift for acting and impersonation ; and she 
 would have become, I have no doubt, an excellent 
 writer, if time had been granted her. A novel, 
 At Sundry Times and in Divers Manners, which 
 was published after her death, is full of humour 
 and lively characterisation ; and her little book 
 Streets and Lanes of the City, privately printed by 
 my father after her death, is one of the few books 
 I know about the life of tlic ])oor which seems to 
 
 115
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 have nothing technically philanthropic about it, 
 but is written from the point of view of a frank and 
 equal observer. Nellie was the only one of us, I 
 think, who had no awe of my father. She knew 
 exactly the sort of talk and companionship that he 
 liked, and gave him exactly the sort of open and 
 outspoken affection for which he craved. It was 
 Nellie's way to fall in with the moods of her 
 companion, not diplomatically, but with a certain 
 self-suppression, because she enjoyed giving people 
 their head and seeing how they behaved. The 
 singular and beautiful result of this was that in a 
 very tender and careful little biographical study 
 which my father wrote of her, prefixed to 
 Streets and Lanes of the City, he there drew a 
 portrait of her which to me is hardly recognisable, 
 but which is yet obviously true, because it showed 
 Nellie as she reflected my father's own moods. But 
 this was all a perfectly uncalculating impulse on 
 her part, a natural desire to be exactly what was 
 expected of her, mingled with an intense desire 
 that her friends should be their own natural selves 
 in her company. She did not draw out people 
 because she wanted to stand well with them, but 
 because she was more interested in them than in 
 herself, and wished them to be happy, frank, and 
 amused. Nellie never seemed to have strong wishes 
 of her own. " What shall we do ? " was her favoin-ite 
 question. Neither do I think she had consciously 
 a strong sense of responsibility, or a wish to direct 
 and influence others. It was a far more spontaneous 
 and natural instinct in her, and her love was given 
 lavishly to all who claimed her affection. I have 
 seldom known anyone more truly unselfish, not from 
 
 ii6
 
 ILLNESS AND TRAVEL 
 
 deliberate self-renunciation, but out of pure eagerness 
 and goodwill ; and it was all irradiated by a bubbling- 
 over sense of humour, and an intense amusement 
 in the whimsical qualities and inconsistencies and 
 absurdities of human beings, which delighted her 
 in spite of herself, and even when she would have 
 wished them otherwise. She had a good deal of 
 ill-health in her short life and much depression — the 
 result perhaps of her activities. There was a mood 
 in which she tended to stare fixedly before her, and 
 to enliven proceedings with a doleful little song. 
 But she hid her tiredness very gallantly, and it was 
 little suspected. It was a happy temperament, 
 full of curiosity and liveliness ; and I never saw 
 anyone who was more fitted by nature to be a wife 
 and a joyful mother of children. She would have 
 played with them, sympathised with them, under- 
 stood them, laughed at them, and consoled them ; 
 but this was not to be. As I think of her, I remember 
 best her joyful greeting, her eager embrace and the 
 firm grasp of her strong little hand, and the way 
 in which she threw aside whatever she was doing, 
 not reluctantly, but because she loved companion- 
 ship better still. 
 
 There is something half-sustaining, I am sure, 
 about the swift and sudden passage of an eager and 
 vivid spirit into the unseen. If death follows a 
 long illness, in which every power of body and mind 
 seems gradually eclipsed, there is a temptation to 
 feel that death may be an extinguishing of life ; 
 but when the end comes to one whose spirit is 
 radiant and undimmed, it is easier to think of it 
 as a migration, a mere shifting of the scene. It 
 was thus with Nellie, as it was with my father and 
 
 117
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 Hugh — the door opened suddenly upon their path, 
 and they passed through in strength and not in 
 weakness. 
 
 Nellie then was laid to rest in the quiet church- 
 yard in the valley, beneath the steep wooded bluffs 
 of the Park and close to the gardens and the little 
 farm. I think that my father had expected to be 
 buried there. Archbishops Manners-Sutton, Howley, 
 Sumner, Longley and Tait are all buried there, 
 and a space was left at my father's wish by Nellie's 
 grave, where Maggie herself now sleeps. 
 
 The home life began again. But Nellie's death 
 was like the closing of the old days of childhood for 
 all of us. She was just twenty-seven, but she had 
 kept alive by her freshness and childlike spirit 
 many little family usages and games which never 
 revived again. Till then we had always written 
 and acted a children's play at Christmas, and there 
 had always been a holiday magazine ; but this 
 all disappeared, and no one had the heart to revive it. 
 
 It is usual to speak of "sheltered lives" and 
 to draw a sharp distinction between lives of external 
 prosperity and ease, and lives of simpler stress and 
 commoner anxieties. I believe it to be a wholly 
 unreal' distinction. All people grow very easily 
 accustomed to the external circumstances of life, 
 and wealth can do little to remedy them. As a 
 matter of fact, surroundings weigh very little on 
 the hearts of active and cheerful people. The real 
 distinction is one of temperament, between the 
 people who take things as they come, and live 
 buoyantly in the day and hour, and the people 
 who scrutinise closely themselves and those about 
 them, anticipate anxieties, array circumstances, 
 
 ii8
 
 ILLNESS AND TRAVEL 
 
 feel alike a strong sense of duty and a fear of being 
 unequal to that duty. Maggie was of the sensitive 
 type whose life could never be sheltered or guarded. 
 A misunderstanding, a difficult personality, a 
 shadow of temper or irritability, a claim of sympathy 
 or help, weighed heavily upon her ; and though her 
 life gave her many interests and opportunities, it 
 also multiplied duties and responsibilities. She 
 could not lightl}^ dismiss any appeal, and even if 
 it were not actually made, she was inclined to fret 
 herself over the thought that she ought to have 
 had something to give. She had of course many 
 resources of interest and work. But she could never 
 peacefully abandon herself to them ! Her affections 
 were always indicating to her new channels in which 
 she desired that her spirit might flow. She was to 
 be much separated from her home in the years that 
 followed, and to gain a different outlook ; and she 
 was never a sheltered spirit in the sense of having 
 a self-contained stronghold in which she could live, 
 indifferent to what was going on outside. Nellie 
 made natural and lively response to outside voices ; 
 but Maggie was less impelled by curiosity or inven- 
 tiveness. The world was more mysterious to her, 
 and its secrets more dim and strange. She had a 
 stronger artistic instinct for what was beautiful, 
 not only in art but in conduct and belief, and the 
 possibilities of life were like an unexplored palace 
 in a haunted domain, through which you passed 
 half in admiration and much in awe. Neither had 
 she the buoyancy which floated Nellie laughing 
 past what she did not understand, and even by what 
 she disliked. Maggie was more afraid of what 
 might be revealed, though she desired to face the 
 
 119
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 reality of things, and she had too a strong touch 
 of Puritan disdain for anything she thought coarse 
 or base. NelHe wanted to amend where Maggie 
 wanted to alter, and Nellie pitied and was even 
 amused by what distressed and hurt Maggie to 
 contemplate. But Maggie was saved from anything 
 like disdain or superiorit}^ by a real and genuine 
 humility, her sternness was mitigated by an imagi- 
 native sympathy, and she was always ready to 
 blame herself fully as severely, if not more severely 
 than she blamed others. She took up her new role, 
 the only daughter now in a busy household with 
 endless social claims, heavy-hearted, I think, and 
 feeling her inadequacy, but with a constant and 
 generous desire to do her best. 
 
 {To Miss Gent.) 
 
 Addington Park, 
 Crovdon. 
 {1890.) 
 
 The end was more peaceful and beautiful than 
 you can think. 
 
 We were allowed to see her the last morning, 
 she was so natural . . . 
 
 {To Miss Gent.) 
 
 Addington Park, 
 Croydon. 
 (1890.) 
 
 Kitty dear, don't think of us as miserable like 
 that. It isn't so with any of us. In some ways it 
 seems the most beautiful and hononraUe thing that 
 could be done — and one hasn't the feeling of death 
 
 120
 
 ILLNESS AND TRAVEL 
 
 at all — but of expanded life. It is astonishing how 
 one realises the things one has said — and that there 
 is no sting in a death like this. 
 
 {To Miss Gent. 
 
 The Cottage, 
 Reigate. 
 (1890.) 
 
 Kitty dear — if you can, write me little scraps- 
 just nothing— a word will do — but I want to feel you 
 near now, as I know vou are in heart. 
 
 {To her brother A ythiir.) 
 
 Addington. 
 (1890.) 
 
 This is just a note to begin the habit of 
 writing again, which I don't want to leave off any 
 more. 
 
 I can't help feeling how near one can live to 
 people without realising altogether so much that 
 is really of the greatest possible worth to one. 
 Partly I have done this I think because I was so 
 sure of Nellie — just as we didn't trouble to make 
 up disputes because we knew that without that 
 we should find ourselves on just the same terms as 
 before. But this wakes one up to so much more 
 that one is not doing and might do — and I don't 
 want to miss drawing near to anyone through any 
 carelessness or a continual tendency to isolate 
 myself. 
 
 This must sound rather incomprehensible and 
 121
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 confused, but perhaps you will see partly what I 
 
 mean. 
 
 The six years which followed, up to the time of 
 my father's death in i8g6, were spent in constant 
 journeys in search of health. The truth is that 
 Maggie was frail to start with, and her temperament 
 led her to throw herself eagerly and enthusiastically 
 into everything that she did, while her sensitiveness 
 to impressions made everything into a strain. 
 In the first place there was her intellectual work ; 
 she had now in her mind a book relating philosophy 
 to religion. She read and meditated much, slowly 
 and thoroughly, and her thinking was not a poetical 
 and suggestive dealing with interesting problems, 
 but solid and concentrated work, systematically 
 done, mapping out and covering all the ground 
 methodically. She wrote and rewrote, for ever 
 simplifying and reconsidering. Her aim was to 
 make a book which could be understood by 
 ordinary intelligent readers, rather than a technical 
 thesis. Then on her first visit to Egypt she took 
 up excavation and Egyptology, worked at Arabic 
 and hieroglyphics, with Greek thrown in— she was 
 always occupied with the Greek Testament in spare 
 moments. 
 
 Moreover her friendships, very various and far- 
 ranging, were seldom leisurely and refreshing things. 
 She studied her friends' characteristics and modes 
 of thought, and threw herself into their problems 
 and difficulties, while her emotions were loyal and 
 intense, so that she could not just make up a friend- 
 ship and leave it to take care of itself. She entered 
 enthusiastically into her friends' schemes, giving 
 
 122
 
 ILLNESS AND TRAVEL 
 
 them all the help they claimed, without desiring 
 to impress herself on them or wanting to manage 
 them. She kept her friends in mind, pondered much 
 over their qualities, concerned herself about them, 
 prayed for them; while at this time she passed through 
 a particular emotional crisis, which affected her 
 whole life deeply and left its mark upon her. Then 
 too when she was at home, she threw herself into 
 social duties, and her shyness, which was still there 
 though not superficially visible, made the smallest 
 occasion into something of an effort, because she 
 gave her best and tried to establish a real relation 
 with any stranger whom it fell to her to entertain. 
 She never learnt the trick of easy prattle ; conver- 
 sation with her meant thought and feeling and 
 sympathy. 
 
 The consequences of all this strain was a succession 
 of physical maladies ; and though she did not 
 become hypochondriacal in the sense that she spoke 
 much of health, yet illness became a grievous limi- 
 tation, keeping her back from settled life and stead}^ 
 work, and she fought it by a minute attention to 
 regime and habits. I used to think that almost 
 the only region where she took things with a touch 
 of over-solemnity was that of health. It was not 
 to be wondered at, considering what she endured ; 
 and she felt, I think, that only by real care and 
 strictness could she keep her power of work at all. 
 The result was an almost oracular confidence in 
 the opinions of doctors and a tendency to attach 
 importance to the regularity of life which she had 
 prescribed for herself. 
 
 It began with rheumatism and a threatening 
 of arthritis. Then her heart became affected, and 
 
 123
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 there followed a serious illness which involved both 
 throat and eyes and caused much prostration. Her 
 ultimate breakdown was the sequel of this illness, 
 which continued to lurk in her system, though 
 temporarily subdued. 
 
 {To Miss Geni.) 
 
 Addington Park, 
 Croydon. 
 
 I know it's a long time since I wrote. We 
 have been very busy lately. All the week before 
 last I was up in London with Aggie Ellison,* and 
 between her, and the baby, and the people I wanted 
 to see, and my lessons at Croydon, there wasn't 
 much time — and since that we have been rather 
 in a rush down here. I didn't know before how 
 much I liked little babies — I never had a chance 
 as far as I remember — besides I was so dread- 
 fully afraid of them before I got used to this one. 
 
 I feel as if I had dreamt about you last night. 
 I can't remember if I really did, but don't yoa 
 know the kind of sensation one has if one has vividly 
 dreamt about anyone — for I am in that state of mind 
 about you to-day. 
 
 {To her brother Arthur.) 
 
 Addington. 
 
 My cat has been rather ill — partly the result 
 of second teeth — so she has had to take up her abode 
 
 * Agnes Tait, who married the Rev. J. H. EUison. 
 124
 
 ILLNESS AND TRAVEL 
 
 at the farm for a few clays, and now is giving herself 
 all the airs of an invalid, she would look more 
 interesting in the part, if she either had not spilt 
 so much medicine on herself, or could be persuaded 
 to clean it off. 
 
 Do you remember my writing to Ruskin about 
 a year and a half ago for an autograph for Papa — he 
 never answered, and I was dreadfully afraid I had 
 offended him by asking. But Miss Baynes who 
 has just come from there said he told her that I 
 had asked for a photograph, but he wasn't going 
 to send it because he was so ugly. However on 
 persuasion he chose out one, and wrote his name on 
 it and sent it to me by Miss Baynes — I am very 
 glad. 
 
 {To Miss Gent.) 
 
 Addington Park. 
 (1S91.) 
 
 Herkomer came on Tuesday to paint my father's 
 portrait, and let us watch him paint it all Tuesday 
 and Wednesday. But coming in to see progress on 
 Thursday morning we were met by a fiery excla- 
 mation that no man — he didn't care who — could 
 paint in such a bad light. It was like an earthquake, 
 and he was in a tremendous state of mind ; however 
 he had given us fair warning before he started that 
 the light might prove too bad — so finally he has to 
 give it up till next February when we shall be at 
 Lambeth, which has higher windows and better 
 lights. I don't know whether I should quite like 
 
 125
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 to be a genius — it must be so agonising when you 
 can't do what you want to — at least he appeared 
 to find it so. He is such a very interesting man. I 
 very much hope he will find he can do it at Lambeth 
 and not want studio light, because it is interesting 
 seeing it done. 
 
 {To her brother Hugh.) 
 
 Lambeth Palace. 
 
 I have been painting a house in the style of 
 
 Van Eyck. 
 
 Meissonier. 
 
 Alma Tadema, etc., 
 at least my studio person says he is teaching me in 
 the right method, of which these people are examples. 
 At present I doubt if it would do credit to Meissonier. 
 It is a red house, but to the artistic eye displays all 
 the colours of the rainbow. 
 
 Nothing happens worth recording here. 
 
 {To Miss Gent.) 
 
 Lambeth Palace. 
 
 Thursday. 
 
 My mother wanted me to thank you for the 
 flowers you sent her ; I think she would have written 
 to you long ago if she hadn't thought I was going 
 to write. But I hope you inferred it was my fault 
 not hers. You want to know what I am doing still ? 
 very well. All this morning I have been seeing 
 Herkomer painting. He is very well satisfied with 
 it himself this time — I think it will be a very fine 
 
 126
 
 ILLNESS AND TRAVEL 
 
 painting, though we aren't thoroughly satisfied with 
 his view of my father's character — I am sure he 
 thinks him contemplative rather than active, which 
 is a mistake. This afternoon the painting went 
 on for some time, but it was chiefly background . . . 
 
 Fi'iday. 
 
 The time now has begun to go horribly quickly. 
 Sunrise and sunset appear to be consecutive. We 
 are going to the Drawing Room on Friday, so you 
 may think of me with feathers in my hair from two 
 to four — I have chosen the loveliest dress. Half of 
 it is green but the other half is like a field full of 
 flowers something between Edelweiss and daisies 
 with cobwebs spun round them. I have had heart- 
 searchings about the price, but I think on the whole 
 the encouragement to art justifies me. I must go 
 down and see the painting. Herkomer is not a 
 human being. He can't do nothing. He and 
 Burnand are writing a comic opera, he doing the 
 music. He has just finished an opera which his 
 students are to act in a theatre of his own making ! 
 Did you ever hear of such a man — I don't consider 
 it fair play to have people like that in the world . . . 
 
 My dear child, it wouldn't be the least bit of 
 use if I were to tell you what to do — even if I could, 
 which I can't — and even if I wanted to — which I 
 don't — I should be very sorry if we got into that 
 relation . . . 
 
 I liked your story, but you have such a tragic 
 mind ! 
 
 127
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 {To Miss Gent.) 
 
 Hotel Beau Site, 
 
 Aix-les-Bains . 
 
 I have never been in Antwerp or anywhere in 
 Holland or Belgium so I am still in the benighted 
 state about Rubens' pictures. But I know Nellie 
 felt, just as you do, when she went two or three 
 years ago, a complete reversal of all her previous 
 ideas on the subject. I sympathise with you a good 
 deal on the subject of Roman Catholicism, except 
 that I have rather a weakness for Confessionals 
 myself — but the point I always feel unsurmountable 
 is the place of the Virgin in worship. Here one 
 doesn't see Roman Catholicism to the best advantage. 
 We went into the Church the other day, and the 
 whole thing was so irreverent and so slovenly. 
 
 As to other things here — most of the treatment 
 is very nice — douches of warm water and massage 
 4 times a week in the early morning — twice a week 
 special treatment with sulphurous vapour — that's 
 horrid, and water — (tolerably horrid too) — to drink 
 in the middle of the morning. 
 
 The doctor here says my rheumatism is " really 
 a bad kind " — so that I can't possibly be cured this 
 year. It will be checked this year, improved next 
 (if I come) and ought to be cured the third year. 
 I expect I shall go on with the cure. You needn't 
 distress yourself by thinking that it at all matters 
 to me. It isn't painful — even all this treatment 
 doesn't do more than make me feel mildly rheu- 
 matic — neither does it at all endanger life — the only 
 
 128
 
 ILLNESS AND TRAVEL 
 
 thing is that I suppose it would be crippling if it 
 spread, and it will spread, unless it's looked after. 
 
 This place is almost the loveliest I have ever 
 seen. One doesn't of course feel very sprightly, 
 because that isn't the effect of the cure— but it's 
 nice. I assure you the porters are not at all rough, 
 but lift one into bed and tuck one up in the most 
 tender way if a maid doesn't happen to be about — 
 I've abandoned all sense of conventional usages, 
 as you see, since I've been here. 
 
 [To her brother Hugh.) 
 
 Hotel Beau Site, 
 Aix-les-Bains. 
 May 1 8th. 
 
 My Dearest Hugh, 
 
 It was all very well to say in a grand way 
 that I didn't expect you to write — but it would 
 perhaps have been more impressive if I had written 
 myself at all. So here goes. 
 
 It's rather nice here, except being boiled in the 
 morning, literally boiled, and drinking rotten-egg 
 water at mid-day. Yesterday we went to a most 
 delicious place, overhanging the lake, but the only 
 thing you are told about it beforehand is that you 
 can get scones, and two kinds of jam. Don't you 
 think that people always get greedier abroad ? 
 What would Miss A be like abroad ? 
 
 F has been sitting in my room reading some 
 
 animal stories I have written, and it was rather 
 trying, for they were meant to be amusing, and she 
 did not smile from beginning to end. Then she 
 said, " I don't think they are dull." 
 
 129 
 
 K
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 Some of her friends travelled with her at 
 various times, or met her at places at which she 
 stayed, or went out to her. The light in which 
 Maggie was regarded by them is best shown by the 
 following letter from a friend whom my mother 
 invited to accompany her a year or two later : — 
 
 {To Mrs. Benson.) 
 
 I can't tell you with what happiness I accept. 
 I could almost wish that it were not so great a joy 
 to me, that I could prove my love for Maggie more. 
 But I will do everything I can for her and for you — 
 only I never can do enough. 
 
 I have written to you in absolute certainty of 
 being able to go — because practically I am certain. 
 But I think you know I am engaged . . . and I feel 
 
 I should like to tell " " all about it before I 
 
 absolutely say it is all decided. It is only a form, 
 because he will love me to be with Maggie, and we 
 have quite settled that he can never be more than 
 second to her ! but I have a feeling that I should 
 like to go through the form of telling him and having 
 his answer before I quite tell myself that it is certainly 
 settled. 
 
 A friend writes — 
 
 " In the year 1891 I went to Aix-les-Bains with 
 her for a fortnight ; and here I noticed many 
 changes, many developments in her, the extent of 
 which I had only partly guessed before. She 
 seemed years older, more sure of herself, broader 
 
 130
 
 ILLNESS AND TRAVEL 
 
 in all her views of life. She had seen much, 
 learnt much and done much since the days when 
 purely intellectual studies had occupied so much 
 of her time. Above all, she had met and knew 
 some of the most interesting men and women of 
 the age. I used to accuse her, when I first 
 knew her, of * having everything she could wish 
 for ' ; and at the time it really seemed so to 
 me, and she herself used laughingly to admit it. 
 But this I could no longer say, for one great trouble 
 had already befallen her, and the shadow of another 
 threatened, though at present it was but a shadow 
 and a faint one. She had lost her sister in the 
 previous year. I did not see her until some months 
 afterwards, and her brief letters told me only, by 
 their brevity, how keen and deep a trouble it was, 
 and how bravely she was bearing it. The other 
 trouble which I have called a shadow, was her 
 health. The rheumatism from which she suffered 
 was a tiresome check to her plans, but it gave 
 her no actual pain, and seemed likely to yield to 
 treatment : she called it merely a good excuse for 
 dropping out of society and getting on with her 
 real work. This * real work ' included a book on 
 Political Economy which she was writing, and which 
 she discussed at length with the Chancellor of the 
 Exchequer, who happened to be at Aix at the same 
 time ; and in the intervals she was reading Hegel 
 for the book on philosophy and religion which she 
 meant to publish some day. Meanwhile, her paint- 
 ing, too, included now not only the exquisite water- 
 colour sketches which Ruskin so admired, but some 
 extraordinarily clever studies in oils of the animals 
 she knew and loved and understood so well. Nor 
 
 131
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 had she dropped more human interests. She had 
 kept in touch with many of her old friends, and 
 was constantly making new ones. People (even 
 strangers) still loved to confide in her, but I think 
 she did not bear with them quite so gladly as in the 
 days of her ' distressing meekness.' She could 
 and did enlighten the morbid as to their deadly 
 condition ; ' If you haven't made a place in the 
 world for yourself, and if it's true that no one wants 
 you or cares for you — whose fault is that ? ' 
 
 She and I resumed our old game of telling each 
 other stories of what we meant to be and do in the 
 future ; but sometimes she would stop short in the 
 middle of hers and say with a kind of dismay — ' But 
 if I paint all the pictures I want to paint, I shaU 
 never have time to write all the books I want to 
 write ; and if I write all I want to write, when 
 shall I be able to paint ? And if I make all the 
 friends I'd like to make, and if I go on with my 
 lectures and social work, I shan't have time for 
 anything else at all ! ' 
 
 We were sitting together in the darkness at one 
 of the windows of the Beau-site Hotel, watching 
 some rather feeble and fitful fireworks against the 
 deep blue of the woods at night on the hills opposite, 
 and she threw out her arms with a gesture unusual 
 in her, exclaiming, ' Oh, I should like to fill all the 
 world, and let all the world fill me ! ' 
 
 She loved colour and light, as her sketches show, 
 and liked to sit silent looking at a landscape even 
 when she did not paint it. Sometimes she would 
 stop and say, ' Let us come here to-morrow, and 
 I'll paint that. I want to save up the impression 
 of that to remember in moments of depression ! ' 
 
 132
 
 ILLNESS AND TRAVEL 
 
 She still loved to discuss character, and gave 
 me a special list of her friends which I was to keep 
 for future reference, as she would want to record 
 her progress with them and keep me informed about 
 them. She gave me the plots of several stories 
 too, which I was to write for her, naming all the 
 people, and sketching situations and conversations 
 for me to work out. 
 
 In her letters after I left her, she alludes con- 
 stantly to this ' List,' and to the stories about 
 which we were collaborating. ' Send me what 
 you have written of " Silas and Kitty " by return — I 
 simply love Silas and his colds in the head. But I 
 don't feel as if I knew exactly what Kitty looks like 
 — Hazel eyes, please, and brown hair, and she is 
 always blushing at the wrong time, etc' ' Yes, 
 you've got quite the right idea : it wasn't the 
 having to give all the love that she minded — it 
 was his complacent acceptance of it as his 
 right.' 
 
 She had already written one or two stories in 
 conjunction with her sister, had planned some 
 others, and some day (if only there was time) she 
 meant of course to write a novel ; but just at present 
 she was busy with other things, and fiction could 
 wait a while. All the same, she took the keenest 
 interest in all that her brothers were doing, and 
 would always break off anything she herself was 
 working at if they made any call upon her. She 
 read their MSS., made frequent suggestions, and 
 entered into the questions they raised with eager 
 enthusiasm. The character and situations of their 
 books were as real to her as any of her own 
 invention. With all the changes that I saw in 
 
 '^33
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 Maggie at this time, the two impressions I had first 
 received of her remained unimpaired. 
 
 With all the broadening of her views of life and 
 the clamour of interests within her — religion still 
 remained the real mainspring of action ; and her 
 home remained the real dwelling-place of her heart." 
 
 {To her Mother. 
 
 Palace Hotel, 
 
 Edinburgh. 
 
 (1892.) 
 
 Oh Mother, I do miss you so dreadfully 
 already — and feel as if I had suddenly become 
 quite alone in the world — and that backgrounds 
 are backgrounds. 
 
 I shall ^vrite and tell you what I mean by 
 dissatisfaction — because I want to particularly. It 
 is not the same either as humility or aspiration — I 
 wish it were. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Hotel Beau Site, 
 
 Aix-les- Bains. 
 (1892.) 
 
 Please realise that this is the first possible 
 moment I could write — when probably j^ou haven't 
 begun breakfast at home, — oh would I get up so 
 late ! we had a perfect journey — hardly a ripple on 
 the sea, and everything shining. I hardly read 
 anything at all the whole way here. On the boat 
 
 134
 
 ILLNESS 4ND TRAVEL 
 
 people were even eating sandwiches, and every- 
 one was walking about— a horribly British party 
 romping up and down in pairs. I made friends 
 over the tea-basket with one woman, whom I 
 have been travelling with ever since. I can't think 
 who she is — she had a rug with a monogram and a 
 coronet on it (that last is why I made friends with 
 her). She read my name off my luggage, I suppose, 
 and addressed me by it familiarly, and enquired if 
 I was any relation of the Shropshire Bensons, etc. 
 Then she wanted me to drive across Paris with her — 
 mercifully the carriages were too small for all of us — 
 then she entreated me to come into her carriage 
 while my Cook's man was finding a place for me, 
 and finally bundled into mine as the train was going 
 off. She was very amiable, however, and insisted 
 on shading my side of the lamp — in opposition to 
 two cross Frenchwomen — in consequence of which 
 I went heavily to sleep at 9, and was finally waked 
 by my friend about 6 next morning — because she 
 thought we were getting to Aix some time before 
 Culoz. She is coming to call on me this afternoon : 
 thank goodness she goes to Turin to-morrow — she 
 is the sort of person who spends her first afternoon 
 in going round to all the hotels to see the Visitors' 
 Book — and then complains that she doesn't like 
 Aix because it's too fashionable. 
 
 I do love this place — in spite of everything — 
 and I am really glad to be here. I am going to 
 think a very great deal. I did it so hard all yester- 
 day, when I wasn't sleeping, that the journey 
 seemed to shut up like a telescope. Everything is 
 looking lovely, though the trees are backward — 
 acacias hardly in leaf — and there is snow on the 
 
 135
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 Dent du Chat range ; but my friend tells me lilies 
 of the valley will probably be out — they grow wild. 
 There is a railway up to Mouxy — I want to go to 
 the top of the Revard, and find wild orchids. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Aix. 
 
 (1892.) 
 
 The doctor greeted me in his o^^^l bright, en- 
 couraging way — by saying he had been reading a 
 pamphlet by a big Paris doctor on my kind of 
 rheumatism, " Et c'est desesperant de voir ses 
 conclusions," but while I was reviewing the whole 
 of the rest of my life as a hopeless cripple, it turned 
 out that he only meant it was necessary sometimes 
 to continue for 6 or 7 years. I really will apologise 
 very much if that turns out to be the case, though 
 I am rather relieved by it personally — for it evidently 
 is in the nature of the thing that my rheumatism 
 shouldn't yet have gone. He won't think anything 
 of my hands. 
 
 It's horrid to think of you all in that nasty, 
 grubby, smoky, bustling place. Oh, I think I have 
 found my vocation — I will tell you about it next 
 time. Uncle Henry must be asked about it. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Aix-les-Bains, 
 
 May 13th (1892). 
 
 I get plenty of solitude. To-day I am going 
 out with the others — but yesterday I only saw them 
 
 136
 
 ILLNESS AND TRAVEL 
 
 at meals and a little after meals — I do lots of Hegel 
 — I have begun the Religious Philosophy, too. That 
 is where I see the vocation. I do want to know 
 badly — and perhaps Uncle Henry could tell me 
 (i) if the Philosophy of Religion has been translated, 
 
 (2) if not, and one began to translate it, how could 
 one be sure that half way through some one would 
 not cut in with a ready-made translation — and 
 
 (3) if both these points could be settled, is it safer 
 to do it on one's own hook, or try to make a treaty 
 with a publisher ? 
 
 Now, supposing all these things were satisfac- 
 tory, and that the book is altogether sublime as 
 the beginning of it is — I should like to do that, 
 annotate it, and then make my own book — if I 
 did it at all — a sort of easy beginner's book — an 
 essayish kind of a book, which should look very 
 heterodox and attractive and very easy, and should 
 be a sort of decoy duck. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Aix, 
 May 14th (1892). 
 
 Such a charming scene yesterday, outside a 
 cottage on the hill — a man holding down a large 
 sheep, and a woman carefully cutting its fleece off 
 with a pair of largish scissors — its two lambs dancing 
 about in fierce excitement. The cut-off fleece was 
 over its head, and it was lying quite still, so we asked 
 if it wasn't smothered, and she lifted the fleece up and 
 showed the passive old sheep lying quite sensibly 
 quiet underneath, kissed it effusively and said 
 
 T^Z7
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 amiable nothings, and put it back again. Then a 
 neighbour came down very indignant at her shearing 
 it with scissors — she wouldn't think of doing such 
 a thing, and she pointed to the minutest scratch the 
 sheep had got. Then a man on the road was asked 
 to come and help — but he had got too good a coat 
 on. When we came back again, the sheep was just 
 finished, and the lambs in a surprised affectionate 
 fuss. It was all so nice and individual. Oh, I do 
 feel so different from the first year I was here ! Do 
 you remember seeing those sisters picking herbs — 
 and it gave me such an awful pang because I wanted 
 to be human again. I do feel so much more in 
 league with the stones of the field now. The night- 
 ingales are quite as good as Bully.* If you whistle 
 four monotonous notes, they will take up the next 
 strain — the bubbling note — and they don't make 
 invidious distinction between men and women. 
 
 Gerry f has just been so very nice, but I can't 
 believe she will be so nice when she knows me better. 
 Now the satisfaction with you is that I shall never 
 cease to be 3^oui daughter, however disagreeable 
 you may find me out to be. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 May 17 (1892). 
 
 I have had such queer talks with H 
 
 Her view of literature is that no plays or novels 
 
 * My mother's bullfinch, 
 t Miss Gertrude Liddell. 
 
 138
 
 ILLNESS AND TRAVEL 
 
 can be bad — as long as they represent " reality," 
 which, as usual, means disagreeable reality. That 
 everybody had better know everything, and most 
 of them try everything — that extreme friendships 
 are inadvisable, because they prevent people marry- 
 ing — but what is advisable is that women should 
 be abjectly devoted to their husbands up to utter 
 self-abnegation — but that is after all the extremest 
 selfishness. That nothing changes men but religion 
 and being in love, and neither of these for 
 long. 
 
 And yet she is the mother of three grown-up 
 sons, and a woman of the world. Isn't it — some of 
 it, — like a very crude girl trying to be cynical — and 
 much of it is not at all nice, only there is a naiveness 
 about it which saves it. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Aix-les-Bains, 
 
 May 25th (1892). 
 
 Oh, this place is lovely ! Fred says he 
 never was in a town which smelt so little of any- 
 thing but roast coffee and flowers. Two nights ago 
 I woke up in the moonlight, and the air was perfectly 
 rippling with 3 or 4 birds singing outside. I didn't 
 want to " cease upon the midnight " — in any other 
 but the temporary manner of sleep, however. Still 
 — I want to come home. 
 
 139
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 [To hey Father.) 
 
 Aix-les-Bains, 
 
 May 29th (1892). 
 
 Lucy told me you had been speaking about 
 the need for the Anti-Socialist pamphlets. I wish 
 someone else would try writing them too — I am 
 making attempts to imitate Morris's methods and 
 style. It's difficult neither to concentrate too much 
 on one side, nor to make it dull by having too few 
 points on the other. I have got a scheme for four 
 which I hope to finish out here. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Aix-les-Bains, 
 
 May 30th (1892). 
 
 The general accusation against Spinoza's 
 philosophy is that there follows from it that if 
 everything is One, such a philosophy assumes that 
 Good is one with Evil, and that there is no dis- 
 tinction between good and evil, and so all Religion 
 is done away with. People say that there is no 
 distinction between good and evil in themselves, 
 therefore it is indifferent whether one is good or 
 bad. It must be confessed that the distinction 
 between Good and Evil in themselves — that is, in 
 God, the only true reality — is done away. In God 
 there is no evil — there would only be a distinction 
 between Good and Evil if God were evil ; but one 
 cannot allow that evil is affirmative, and that this 
 affirmative principle is in God. God is good and 
 only good ; the distinction of evil and good in this 
 One (person), in this substance — is non-existent, 
 
 140
 
 ILLNESS AND TRAVEL 
 
 (To her Mother.) 
 
 Addington Park, 
 Aug. 8th (1892). 
 
 I'm going to see J but I shan't talk about 
 
 my soul because it isn't worth it . . . 
 
 I am quite well and perfectly rested — but I am 
 rather sick at heart — and don't understand any- 
 thing — however like Mrs. E I feel perhaps " we 
 
 are not intended to." 
 
 {To her brother Arthur.) 
 
 Addington, 
 Aug. (12th), 1892. 
 
 We have seen something of F ,* and she talks 
 
 stern Church always. Everyone is described accord- 
 ing to their being " good Church-people " or not. 
 " A married B — they were fair Church-people — " 
 Lucy begins to think it accounted for — that Papa 
 should be Archbishop — much more accountable than 
 her own father's being so. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Nottingham. 
 (1892.) 
 
 You see it is worrying — nothing else — which 
 has made things tasteless — one can't settle to doing 
 anything if one is worrying. Now I am demoralised 
 
 * A cousin. 
 141
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 it's true, but I will do things properly again — and 
 I don't feel any longer as if I couldnt. I really am 
 most tremendously relieved. Dearest Mother, I 
 will take any amount of good advice now, and want 
 it badly. I have brought Hegel and an Italian 
 Grammar and the Ring and the Book, and sketching 
 things — and I don't want to have an illness. 
 
 142
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 EGYPT 
 
 In her twenty-eighth year a change passed over her, 
 of which she was conscious herself ; she arrived at a 
 certain maturity of thought and purpose, and her 
 aims defined themselves more clearly. 
 A friend writes : — 
 
 " Someone once said of Maggie, ' She will pass 
 from childhood to womanhood without any inter- 
 vening phase of " young ladyhood " ' — and I think 
 this is exactly what actually happened. Writing 
 in the year 1892, she says, ' I feel as if I had really 
 grown-up this year. I believe you will find me quite 
 different — nor nearly so cut and dried and matter 
 of fact and logical ! ' Up to this time, in spite of 
 her extraordinary intellectual development, she had 
 retained a singularly childlike view of life as a whole. 
 Her plans for the future had been all of things 
 to be done and schemes to be worked out both for 
 herself and other people, all full of most vital 
 interest as regards ideas, but showing in some ways 
 a curious immaturity of actual experience. Marriage 
 for instance, was to be fitted in sometime — perhaps ; 
 or rather, we were to find ourselves married at some 
 remote period ; but for the moment she would 
 
 143
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 say that she herself could never conceive of meeting 
 anyone who was ' man enough to marry and yet 
 woman enough to love.' 
 
 But this touch of crudity could not long exist 
 in a nature so full of human sympathy and 
 tenderness. She was swift to learn from the 
 experiences of others. Her friends had always 
 rushed to her for comfort and advice ; and they 
 did not cease from troubling as time went on. The 
 victims of conflicting temperaments and those 
 who had rebelled against religious intolerance in 
 early youth now found life surprisingly similar and 
 full of injustice, even though they were free to act 
 and believe as they liked. Maggie threw her very 
 self into the life-stories of those who poured them 
 out to her, and not only for the moment, not only 
 while she ' listened breathlessly ' to the mere 
 recital, but continuously — following the develop- 
 ments with eagerest interest and keeping the person- 
 alities and details of each drama as a living picture 
 in her heart. I am certain that she never in her life 
 betrayed a confidence ; but she loved to discuss 
 impersonally the problems and incidents of such 
 stories, musing and wondering and often smiling 
 over the strange unaccountableness of human nature 
 and its unexpected developments. Her judgments, 
 as always, were absolutely her own, and she never 
 hesitated to express them, though she often advised 
 people ' to consult some one else, because of course 
 I may be entirely wrong.' Often her views were 
 directly opposed to those commonly accepted. 
 She believed, for instance, that women generally 
 judged other women far more leniently than men 
 judged them. She thought that men had what 
 
 144
 
 EGYPT 
 
 she called ' marrying moods ' and that then if 
 they were refused by one woman they would certainly 
 go off and ask another — often some one with the same 
 Christian name. She often declared that men and 
 women showed the very worst side of themselves 
 when they were in love, and wondered whether this 
 was the reason that so many marriages turned out 
 so indifferently. I have heard her say she believed 
 that if men and women were married off ' at sight ' 
 the marriages would turn out about as well as they 
 did at present. This of course was only her criticism 
 on actual results. As a matter of fact, no one 
 could be more emphatic than she in advising against 
 a marriage for anything but love— on the woman's 
 side at least. I believe that at the back of her 
 heart she always considered that most men ought 
 to have their wives chosen for them. But she was 
 convinced that a woman could not marry without 
 love unless she was absolutely forced to it. She used 
 to say that this was a fact which no man novelist 
 ever really grasped. Writing once to a girl who 
 thought she could marry a man she did not love, 
 because he had said ' the marriage would be the 
 salvation of him,' she expressed herself with all 
 the force and decision which in spite of her 
 tenderness she never feared to show : 
 
 ' Oh my dear child, are you taking it sufficiently 
 seriously ? I know you are in one way, but I mean 
 in this way — whether you are sufficiently considering 
 if as companions merely you would be suitable ? 
 or if not whether you can stand, or he either, the 
 sacrifice that such close companionship involves 
 if you aren't entirely suitable. If you are doing 
 it at all out of pity I do think it needs enormous 
 
 145 L
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 consideration — there are few people who could do 
 it well — who could make it succeed. And I do think 
 you have to consider this too, that though a man, 
 being in love with you and knowing you well in all 
 external relations, may think you can do everything 
 for him and make him anything you like — you and 
 he might find it so different when you were brought 
 into that close relationship — I mean that time and 
 continual demand seem to prove so often that one 
 person cannot go on giving spiritual force — ^life — 
 without receiving it back — that he couldn't go on 
 getting his moral impulse from you if you were 
 getting none from him. Of course exceptionally 
 it may be so — but the person who is so drained upon 
 needs to have immense moral force. Then at the 
 same time do you quite enough consider what 
 marriage might be ? . . . Think of the difference 
 between this marriage and a marriage with a man 
 you loved, and thoroughly respected and trusted, 
 and could lean upon as much at any rate as he 
 would upon you. Do wait. Do reflect. Don't 
 let generous impulses hurry you into a position 
 which your nature couldn't ultimately stand.' 
 
 I have said that she never shrank from advising 
 and even urging strongly those who seemed in danger 
 of taking a wrong turn and who appealed to her for 
 guidance ; but this was not her invariable custom. 
 Nothing was ever more characteristic of her than the 
 loving and absolute confidence she could show when 
 she felt that the line taken would be the right one. 
 * After your letter of this morning,' she wrote soon 
 after, * I shall have no fears. Whatever you ulti- 
 mately decide will be right if you go about it in that 
 spirit.' 
 
 146
 
 EGYPT 
 
 And just as she could give herself out in complete 
 sympathy to those who were in trouble or perplexity 
 — so too she rejoiced absolutely and entirely with 
 those who rejoiced. She never if she could possibly 
 help it let any depression or suffering of her own cast 
 its shadow over some one else's happiness, 
 
 ' Oh this mood is only a passing thing— your 
 serenity is the real stuff ! ' she once said ; — yet she 
 accepted sympathy, whether silent or expressed, 
 with the simplicity which was always characteristic 
 of her. ' It made all the difference knowing that 
 you knew, but that you would not speak unless I 
 wished it.' 
 
 It was difficult for anyone who was not constantly 
 with her to realise how much she had to bear, and 
 how bravely she bore those limitations which her 
 health forced upon her. In her letters she alludes 
 from time to time to ' not being much better,' 
 and of having to try this cure and that ; but she 
 herself believed so absolutely that it was all a matter 
 of time, that she made others believe the same. 
 And between times she showed such an extraordinary 
 rallying power, did so much, filled her life with so 
 many and such varied interests, covered so much 
 ground and so swiftly, that no one could have 
 dreamed to what extent she was really interrupted 
 and hindered. 
 
 I remember seeing her after an absence of some 
 months and being struck by a change in her. She 
 had been abroad for her health all the winter and I 
 expected to find her much better, but I thought her 
 looking worse, and was dismayed, and said so. She 
 was fond of medical details and took her customary 
 impersonal interest in her own symptoms and their 
 
 147
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 causes ; but with me she talked of them jestingly, 
 purposely using technical terms which she knew I 
 did not understand and which she would not explain 
 — and in this fashion she would laugh away my 
 anxiety. Too easily, as I now think. But it was 
 one of her standing jokes against me that I knew 
 nothing of illness, was frightened where there was 
 no need for fear, and yet showed an unnatural calm 
 and cheerfulness in the acutest crises. She has con- 
 stantly assured me that it was ' for this qualitj'^ 
 alone ' that Mrs. Benson asked me in the following 
 winter to go to Egypt with her. It is impossible to 
 say how enchanted I was at the mere thought. I 
 had alwa3^3 longed to go to the East ; to go with 
 Maggie was like the realisation of a dream." 
 
 {To her Father.) 
 
 1 8 Trinity dei Monti, 
 Rome. 
 Jan. 29, 1893. 
 
 I didn't hear much of the Beatification Service 
 to-day, but I got a very good sight of the Pope. 
 One has to go in black, with a veil on, instead of a hat 
 (for the Pope's sake, not for the sake of the Beati- 
 fied) . There was an immense crowd, which streamed 
 up the stairs, and routed the Swiss guard — I saw 
 one of them floating along in the stream. Then 
 we waited for an hour — it was in the loggia of St. 
 Peter's — before the Pope appeared, walking in 
 procession ; such a white, transparent face — a fine 
 profile — blessing, as he went, with a trembling hand. 
 They shouted and clapped, but it was not very 
 genuine — one heard the same voice, the Pope's 
 
 148
 
 EGYPT 
 
 " clapper " beginning every time. To the end I 
 could not find out who was being beatified. The 
 cardinals were very stately, with their purple silk 
 and red, and servants walking behind them. We 
 met one taking his walk in the Campagna, in full 
 dress, the other day. 
 
 {From Mrs. Benson to A. C. Benson.) 
 
 Vinters, Maidstone. 
 Oct. 27, 1893. 
 
 . . . and besides, mingled with the memories of 
 to-day there comes the thought of Maggie's leaving 
 us again so soon, about which I have never wavered 
 in desire for a single moment, but still it is hard to 
 face. 
 
 Maggie is feeling the weather and she is rather 
 shaken with an accident which came to nothing 
 serious, but might have done — on Monday she was 
 coming back riding with your father, and they began 
 to gallop across the field from Whalley's to the house, 
 as you always do. Your father went a little nearer 
 the may-tree than usual, and Maggie, following, 
 scarcely knew for a moment which side to go. Ajax 
 shied — she pulled— and the result was that she went 
 bang, with her face against the bent trunk. It 
 was an awful blow — but most mercifully no con- 
 cussion, no damage to eyes, no breaking of nose — 
 nothing but really a horrid blow— the swelling has 
 now gone down, but she has a handsome black eye. 
 Still she delivered a lecture on "The indirect effect 
 of strikes" to over 100 men on Tuesday evening, 
 
 149
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 lecturing for an hour, and discussing for an hotu: — 
 answering the most foolish, and the most compli- 
 cated questions respectively, and entirely, till one 
 man, a leading Socialist, said she had answered 
 " fairly and squarely," and would she give some 
 more lectures, and whenever she spoke, they would 
 come and hear. The Croydon Socialists ! Isn't 
 it a triumph ? 
 
 {To Miss Gent.) 
 
 Addington Park, 
 
 Croydon. 
 
 (1893) 
 
 Dearest child this isn't a letter. After posting 
 up to London to be dentisted to-day, I am too 
 exhausted to write a letter to anybody though I 
 owe many — 
 
 I seem to have passed into such a new phase of 
 existence now since I came down here and haven't 
 seen many L.M.H. people. At least in one way it 
 isn't new, but like what it was about 7 years ago. 
 It may sound silly but it's rather like convalescing — I 
 think I was very nasty during my last year at L.M.H. 
 That sounds as if I thought I was very nice before 
 and after — I suppose it's latent now — or that I am 
 nasty in a way which doesn't disturb me so much. 
 I wish I could think of something equivalent to 
 " bless you " which didn't sound patronising. 
 
 Her health now made it necessary that she 
 should go farther afield, and it was thought that 
 
 150
 
 Phoio by J. Thomson. 
 
 Maggie. 
 Aged 28. 1893. 
 
 [To face page 150.
 
 ATHENS 
 
 a winter in Egypt might get rid of the rheumatism 
 which still affected her She travelled with my 
 brother Fred, who was endlessly kind in subordi- 
 nating his plans to hers ; he writes — 
 
 -' I went with her several times to Egypt, to 
 Athens, to Florence, and stayed more than once 
 with her at Aix. She was most active of all at 
 Athens, sketching and going on expeditions, hearing 
 lectures at the Archaeological School, helping me 
 with German, and herself taking lessons in modern 
 Greek. At Athens we got up a farce, ' The Duchess 
 of Bayswater,' nominally to amuse English Gover- 
 nesses and residents. Then the British Mediterranean 
 fleet came into Piraeus, and we said the sailors 
 might come, if they would supply half the enter- 
 tainment. This was done, and the first half consisted 
 of hornpipes and songs. Then the Royal Family 
 announced their intention of being present, and the 
 audience consisted of Kings and Queens, governesses 
 and sailors. The play in question is a roaring farce, 
 and Maggie acted the Duchess. Next day the Queen 
 of Greece sent for her, and asked if the English 
 aristocracy really behaved like that . . . 
 
 We used to dine out a good deal at Athens in 
 the evening, and entertained people in a simple way. 
 We once invited a Greek country M.P. to tea, and 
 were astonished at the immense quantity of buns 
 and tartlets which he ate. We found out later 
 that it was considered impolite not to eat anything 
 that was offered you. 
 
 Then we went over to Egypt, and up the Nile as 
 far as Assouan. Maggie used to make all the 
 expeditions from the steamer, riding a donkey. 
 
 151
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 Next year, we went again, and the digging at Mut 
 was begun. She used to ride out morning and 
 afternoon usually to Karnak, and help to super- 
 intend. She, a friend of hers and I wrote a series of 
 stories in the old National Observer about a gather- 
 ing of people at the Villa Palmieri, in the manner of 
 Boccaccio. She learned Arabic (not, I think, getting 
 very far) and could read some amount of hiero- 
 glyphic. We often went day-long excursions to 
 the other side of the river. 
 
 She was an admirable traveller, never getting 
 fussed, nor wondering if connections would be 
 missed, or if trains would be caught." 
 
 A friend writes — 
 
 -* She loved Egypt and she loved the ancient 
 Egyptians. She seemed to absorb the very spirit 
 that had animated them. I think there was some- 
 thing in the mystery and dignity of those old beliefs 
 that corresponded to the awe and reverence for 
 religion that existed in her own soul. She loved 
 Italy and she loved Greece, but I think she loved 
 Egypt best of all and that the land was indeed as 
 she said once, * in her very heart.' 
 
 She got leave from the Government while I was 
 with her to excavate an Egyptian temple — the 
 Temple of Mut by Karnak, and she threw her whole 
 heart into the carr3dng out of the work. She herself 
 has told the story of it in her book, ' The Temple 
 of Mut in Asher,' which she wrote in conjunction 
 with her great friend. Miss Gourlay, who joined her 
 and helped her in the work in the following year. 
 No one can read the book without seeing how 
 
 152
 
 EGYPT 
 
 abbOlutely she had familiarised herself with the 
 whole life and times and very being of the people 
 who had originally raised that temple, and with all 
 that it had meant and expressed to them. She 
 loved to talk and ponder over their ideas of life, of 
 death, and of the life after death. All that related 
 to the ' ka ' — the personality — the individuality 
 — all their beliefs about the soul fascinated her. She 
 loved their symbol of the soul — the hawk — which 
 guarded the innermost sanctuary of humanity in 
 life, and which spread its wings and soared into the 
 unknown when life had departed. I remember her 
 delight when she came across such a symbol — the 
 model of a hawk — amongst some antiques in a 
 dealer's store, and how eagerly she bargained for 
 and bought it and carried it away, saying that she 
 knew her father would love it and that she should 
 give it to him. The Archbishop had it mounted 
 and enclosed in a little glass case, and I believe it 
 always stood on his writing-table. 
 
 She has not told in her book of the devotion 
 which the Arabs she employed had for her. We 
 used to sit under a tent by the side of the Temple and 
 watch them at their work of excavation in the ever- 
 lasting eastern sunshine, and they used to sing about 
 her as a great English princess of fabulous wealth. 
 One of them asked me one day whether * Miss 
 Binson's father ' (reputed to be a great patriarch) 
 ' lived in the same village as the Queen of England ? ' 
 I often remember the perplexed looks of a party of 
 American tourists when they visited the excavation 
 and had her thus pointed out to them by our donkey- 
 boys. They must have thought it strange to see an 
 English princess sitting in the sand, and quarrelling 
 
 153
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 with a very disrespectful lady-in-waiting as to which 
 of them could build the best castle. The boys took 
 a special pride in working for her, and when she was 
 ill used to charge me with endless messages to her. 
 ' Tell her I am too sorry ! ' one of them said with 
 tears. ' Please to tell her " how do you do " from 
 Mahmoud,' another said. When we left Luxor, 
 her own special donkey-boy came to see us off on the 
 Nile steamer and ran a long way on the bank trying 
 to keep up with us, and calling through his sobs, 
 ' Miss Binson ! Miss Binson ! don't forget me — 
 don't forget me ! ' 
 
 But her illnesses often brought weary days and 
 nights, or kept her a prisoner in bed, and tried even 
 her eager spirit. She had times of depression which 
 she fought but could not always conquer : times 
 when even her hopefulness was dimmed. I never 
 heard her complain or lose patience ; it was only as 
 she got better that she would admit that she had 
 suffered — and then she was always eager to forget 
 it, and to have her mind diverted from it. She still 
 loved games, and played them with the abandon- 
 ment of a child. The impromptu rhymes which 
 she and her brother Fred composed in the games 
 we played on paper, still remain in my mind as some 
 of the cleverest and wittiest things either of them 
 ever wrote. She once designed and helped to make 
 fancy dresses for herself and me, copied from old 
 Egyptian pictures, and although we were cut off 
 from shops and could get practically nothing in the 
 Arab market, she succeeded so well that when she 
 appeared at the hotel dance as the goddess Mut, in 
 a wonderful vulture head-dress, every one exclaimed 
 
 154
 
 EGYPT 
 
 in delight, and M, Naville, the Egyptologist, was 
 amazed at her clever achievement. I still have the 
 scarlet and gold necklace and the hllet which she 
 painted for me to wear as Princess Nefert. 
 
 She and I used to spend hours in the desert, 
 which we both loved, sometimes reading or sketch- 
 ing, sometimes playing the old game of weaving 
 stories of the future, and of what our sons and 
 daughters should be and do. She never faltered 
 nor said ' It will not be ' ; but sometimes she 
 would fall silent, looking across the desert with a 
 strange wistfulness, as though already her soul 
 longed to spread its wings and soar in the freedom 
 of those wastes of air ; then suddenly would rouse 
 herself, and turn back and smile, and take up her 
 tale again. 
 
 She was extraordinarily un: elfish in illness, 
 never taking services as a matter of course, far less 
 claiming them as a right ; and though she was 
 obedient and docile as a patient, she tried to throw 
 off invalid habits the moment she found a chance. 
 She was touchingly grateful and surprised at the 
 devotion of others for herself ; and often spoke with 
 a kind of awe and wonder of the love with which 
 her mother, in particular, had always surrounded 
 her — that love which had made her home the 
 happiest place in the world for her." 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Grand Hotel, 
 Athens. 
 Nov. i8 (1893). 
 
 We went to see Miss Tricoupis — h Kvpia "Zofpia 
 she is called — (I can't put on accents, as I don't 
 
 155
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 begin my lessons till Tuesday) ; such a charming 
 old lady, who nearly kisses you at the first interview. 
 She never goes out, except to the funerals of her 
 friends, and to the cemetery, about once in lo days, 
 — but she receives Greeks from 8 in the morning 
 to 2 at night, and foreigners all afternoon. She has 
 never even heard her brother speak except from the 
 window of the house. She collects monograms, 
 seals, etc., and she asked me to get her " Lambeth 
 Palace " as printed on a sheet of paper, so could you 
 send me a Lambeth sheet of paper, and would papa 
 give me an impression of his seal and his signature 
 for her ? She really is a most dear old lady, raptur- 
 ously adoring her brother — saying that he " never 
 made a mistake or did anything wrong." 
 
 Oh Mother, I shall be glad to get your letters — 
 to-morrow. The " dream " has so enveloped me as 
 to rather cut me off from the world — but I do 
 want to hear. 
 
 [To her Mother.) 
 
 Athens. 
 
 I had a very nice letter from S. R. I told you 
 what I said to him, that he didn't believe in the 
 possibilities of his character — which amounted to 
 not believing in the plan or the power of God. He 
 answers that he believes in the power of grace, if he 
 only willed at the time to use it — but that when 
 despair seizes him, it is that he go often hasn't willed 
 at the time what he resolved to do before, that 
 ultimately he gets to despair of ever doing so. But 
 
 156
 
 . ATHENS 
 
 that now he is trying Brother Laurence's plan of 
 taking no notice of failures except to ask forgiveness 
 and start again. What I think I shall say is this 
 more or less — that the willing at the time is part of 
 the very temptation. So that if you doubt your 
 doing that, you are really doubting your power to 
 resist temptation. I think that last plan is exactly 
 what he wants though, as he weakens himself by 
 thinking too much about his faults. O I wish you 
 could be here at any rate for an hour a week to talk 
 about things. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Athens. 
 Dec. 12 (1893). 
 
 This morning after my Greek lesson I went to 
 Calirrhoe — it was delicious there. There was a girl 
 washing clothes in a pool, and a little white spotted 
 pig running over the clothes as they lay drying. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Athens. 
 Dec. 17th, 1893. 
 
 We had such an amusing day on Friday. On 
 Thursday evening we met the Captain of the Edin- 
 burgh, Captain Brackenbury, at the Legation, and 
 he asked me if I had ever seen a man-of-war ; as you 
 know, I didn't know very much about them — so he 
 asked us down to lunch and to see it next day, and 
 
 157
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 sent a boat for us to the Piraeus. We felt awfully 
 grand — and it was interesting ! We both dreadfully 
 wanted to be midshipmen. Then just when we 
 had had lunch, a sailor came running to say that 
 royalty was passing, — the captain flew to get his 
 best coat — all the band rushed up to the top deck 
 and played a march, while everyone else stood 
 saluting as the boat passed, — only a Greek minister 
 going to call on one of the Russian ships, after all ! 
 Then just when they had calmed dowTi and dis- 
 persed, the boat was seen returning, and they all 
 had to fly back. We spent about two hours there. 
 It was awfully funny, being entertained by a man 
 whom one had never seen till the night before, and 
 probably never will see again — and the chaplain of 
 the ship had been curate to Mr. Allen Edwards in 
 South Lambeth — ridiculous ! 
 
 ... I like Mr. A less. I don't like that type 
 
 a bit, though in many ways I like the individual. 
 It may be coloured a little by the fact that he doesn't 
 much like me — but I am glad that I belong to 
 the professional classes. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Athens. 
 (1893.) 
 
 In some ways I am glad to be going to Egypt 
 soon, as the time is come about when my home- 
 sickness begins to grow, so change is rather accept- 
 able, — but I do enjoy lots of things here very much, 
 and besides, I am sure it is good all round to be here ; 
 but I get sudden pictures of the schoolroom, and 
 
 158
 
 ATHENS 
 
 people beginning to come in about tea-time, as you 
 must be doing just now, and cats lying about, — and 
 an atmosphere I like — (moral not physical) — oh, I 
 DO like it ! 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Athens, 
 Dec. 24 (1893), 
 
 Oh, I know it doesn't matter — Fred and I are 
 having an amicable evening, and with this accumula- 
 tion I had so far to depart from Sabbathine prin- 
 ciples as to go with him to see Miss Tricoupis this 
 afternoon — she was dreadfully affectionate (I took 
 her the seal and autograph) and sat holding Fred's 
 hand, and kissed me, and has sent him Tricoupis' 
 signed photograph, — and poured herself out to him 
 about the political situation. 
 
 The Greek Member was charming. He wears 
 national costume, and has a blood-feud in his family. 
 He has got to kill the next man but he says if he can 
 get legal redress he will refrain. He is a beautiful 
 man to look at — young — though he has a son at the 
 University — but as he told Mrs. Gardner, people 
 who have blood-feuds in their family are obliged to 
 marry early. 
 
 We have got a terrible day before us — for we 
 have to rehearse, to have a Xmas tree, and to dine, 
 with punch and general revels, at the Gardners' 
 to-morrow — it is rather a comfort on the whole that 
 I am not going down to-morrow to the ship. . . . 
 
 159
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 ... On reading this over it seems rather folly to 
 write an account of a fuss which is quite over, and 
 which you won't even get till a week afterwards. 
 But I got into a condition of fussed depression 
 yesterday — and, on the whole, having written it, 
 I think I will send it, because I want you to know 
 all the various kinds of things which go on here. 
 Then too, there is no one here I can " pour out " to. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Athens. 
 Dec. 28 (1893). 
 
 I had a nice little talk to the Queen ! I shan't 
 come home unless you promise to invite plenty of 
 Royalties and Ambassadors to meet me. It is a 
 toy country though. 
 
 {To her Father.) 
 
 Grand Hotel, 
 
 Athens. 
 Dec. 29 (1893). 
 
 We have had rather too social a week, — but we 
 could not well have helped it — Mama will tell you 
 what happened ultimately at the acting. The King 
 told Fred next day (he met him on the Trafalgar) 
 that he and I ought to go on the stage,— Broad 
 Comedy, what is called " Pantomime business," 
 was what the King chiefly appreciated. Fred has 
 made quite a reputation as a comic actor here. 
 
 160
 
 ATHENS 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Grand Hotel, 
 
 Athens. 
 Dec. 29 (1893). 
 
 It's rather amusing seeing the Queen here — not 
 formidable, for you sit down and have a comfortable 
 chat. She discussed Dodo which she had just 
 finished reading, and pronounced her " horrid," 
 and wanted to know how true it was of the English 
 aristocracy and whether Fred admired it. She 
 liked Chesterford — but the book she spoke of with 
 enthusiasm was Donovan — " so noble." 
 
 We dine at the Legation again to-night — quietly, 
 because Mr. Egerton has lost his brother-in-law, 
 Mr. Edward Stanhope. He is really an interesting 
 man. He has his study hung round with pictures 
 of race-horses — he is immensely keen on archaeo- 
 logical subjects, and you find he knows about every 
 subject that is mentioned — e.g., they were talking 
 about Hungarian the other day, and he explained 
 to me its relationship to all other languages, and its 
 formation, and it appeared that he reads the Hun- 
 garian Bible every night. 
 
 We have just heard that we have to dine at the 
 Palace to-morrow — a sort of general big dinner, but 
 happily not long. We and the Royal Family are 
 quite hand in glove this week. Fred had a conversa- 
 tion with both King and Queen yesterday. It's 
 very like the Rose and the Ring. 
 
 161 M
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Athens. 
 Jan. I (1894). 
 
 We went to the Palace last night. It was rather 
 amusing, except that we had to stand for an hour 
 and a half while the Ro^^al Family paraded round 
 and asked us how we did. I talked to the King and 
 Queen and Crown Princess and little princess — so 
 did Fred — and also to one prince. It is astonishing 
 the amount they manage to remember about people 
 — they were very amiable and complimentary about 
 the acting. Fred felt frightfully socialistic, because 
 they all kept us standing for some time while they 
 had a little family chatter at the end of the room — 
 but I don't think I object. Roj^alty ought to pose 
 a little, and a dramatic pose is wholesome. While 
 
 we were waiting for them to come round Mrs. B 
 
 confided to me that she wished we had been friends 
 to a greater degree, and wept two tears. 
 
 I had a funny time yesterday afternoon. A 
 
 little American millionaire, by name H , who 
 
 acted with us, told Fred he wished to call on me. So 
 while I was just going to settle down to tea and a 
 book quite alone, he came up unannounced, and 
 settled himself for a talk — so there was nothing to 
 be done. He is going to Egypt a fortnight after we 
 do, and then is coming back here with his sisters, 
 whom he says he very much wants to make my 
 acquaintance. He is a very funny little man, who 
 plays a great deal of Wagner by heart very badly. 
 
 162
 
 EGYPT 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Grand Hotel Abbat, 
 Alexandrie (Egypte). 
 Jan. 4 (1894). 
 
 We had to hoist a yellow flag and Fred was 
 dreadfully afraid we were going to be quarantined ; 
 however, a lot of boats came and looked over our 
 papers and gabbled a good deal — and we were 
 beginning to look wistfully for our Cook and wonder 
 why he didn't come — when suddenly the boats 
 which had been examining our papers, I suppose, 
 gave a signal — for about 20 boats of all sorts of 
 different colours, suddenly appeared out of nothing, 
 with people of all sorts of costmues, rowing wildly 
 towards us, standing on the seats or sitting, shouting 
 and waving, like the best water-show you ever saw. 
 Then they rushed on deck, and all began shrieking 
 at once, and as no one could hear anyone else, waving 
 their arms wildly. And they rushed and offered one 
 boats and hotels and carriages ad infinitmn, and to 
 all Fred only said, " I want Cook." Then at last 
 a man dressed apparently in a white nightgown 
 and scarlet jersey, with " Cook" in flaming yellow 
 embroidered on him, hurled himself into Fred's 
 arms — then we felt safe, and whenever we 
 got offered anything else, we only said, " I've 
 
 got Cook." 
 
 163
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Hotel du Nil, 
 
 Cairo. 
 Jan. 5 (1894). 
 
 We went in the afternoon to the Pyramids — 
 Cheops, etc. " Mr. Sharps " one of the Arab guides 
 called him — we went in to the big one — very hot and 
 very hard, and not much to see. Then Fred went 
 to the top, and I took camel rides, and then we went 
 to the Sphinx. I was awfully disappointed when I 
 saw the back of its head — it was so very small — then 
 we went and stood in front of it, and it grew upon 
 one extraordinarily — in size even — the extra- 
 ordinary fact of its being out there in the desert, 
 looking straight away over the sand with a curious 
 far-off look, and the curious peace and smile of the 
 face, in spite of the features being so disfigured, — it 
 gives one a feeling of such wonderful calm, in spite 
 of a herd of shrieking Arabs around — you seem 
 somehow to get into silence— it is really so — no 
 nonsense ! 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Assouan Hotel, 
 
 Assouan. 
 Jan. 19 (1894). 
 
 After tea we went to the bazaar and found all 
 sorts of fascinating Soudanese and dervishes' imple- 
 ments — such people too — enormously tall Soudanese, 
 perfectly black, and copper Nubians — and Bedouins 
 with one sheet round them and elaborately frizzed 
 
 164
 
 EGYPT 
 
 hair. They are the most beautiful people, with such 
 a step and great wild fearless eyes — the little children 
 are so perfectly beautiful, too — you would rejoice in 
 the bare limbs — they don't mostly wear anything 
 except a string of leather and beads — sometimes not 
 that — but you get to regard dress as a European 
 prejudice. As Mr. Smith said about the Jubilee 
 Service in the Abbey, " dress is optional " here. 
 
 The temple * is most lovely — far and away more 
 beautiful than anything I have seen before — for it 
 is so beautifully coloured with delicate blues and 
 greens^-one thinks at first that the stone is worn, as 
 if with weather — then j^ou see that it is all covered 
 with hieroglyphics between the pillars. 
 
 Then we went back in a boat down the cataract — 
 it was delightful, quite exciting (not at all dangerous) 
 for our boats turned straight round once (this is not 
 down the worst part of the cataract), the men sang 
 as they went, every sentence shouted 7 or 8 times 
 staccato and as we got down the difftcult bits it 
 ended in chorus " Hip hip hoorah, hip hip hoorah, 
 tank you very much, tank you very much." Then 
 little copper-coloured boys, who lay on logs and 
 kicked along in the water, surrounded the boat. It 
 was all so strange and " foreign " — and such a 
 curiously varied day. We didn't get back till about 
 5.30. We have been there again to-day and lunched 
 with the Newmans. 
 
 There are many things that T should like to talk 
 * Philae. 
 
 165
 
 MAGGIE BENvSON 
 
 to you about that are difificult to write. For 
 instance, it looks ridiculous in a letter when I say 
 that for the first time almost I feel as if I had had 
 a little taste of the world at Athens — of course as 
 
 Miss H would say, I couldn't be worldly if I 
 
 tried — but don't you know how in one's life at home 
 one isn't really much thrown across people who have 
 other standards and beliefs. And oh, I do like my 
 native kind so much the best — as I do care so much 
 more for green fields and grey skies than for palm 
 trees and deserts and temples. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Luxor Hotel, 
 
 Luxor. 
 Jan. 23 (1894). 
 
 I am sorry to have missed all those nice children 
 — as well as a good many other things, but weather 
 not included. Oh, by the way, I want to make 
 some plans for what I shall do when I get back. Do 
 you think I could lecture in London ? I want to finish 
 the illustrations of my book — and I shall have to go 
 to South Kensington for some of them — but after 
 that, do you think I might undertake a short course, 
 or would it interfere too much with dinner-parties 
 and London in general ? I ought to settle soon. 
 
 There are some things you would like immensely 
 in Egyptian religion. A man consists of his body, 
 his double which lives in his tomb, his soul, and the 
 Luminous, which is a divine spark. Do you know 
 how much ritual Moses got from Egypt ? It was 
 quite new to me. 
 
 166
 
 EGYPT 
 
 (To her Mother.) 
 
 Luxor Hotel. 
 Jan. 28 (1894). 
 
 Fred has just gone, and I shall go to Church and 
 hope we may have a hymn about a pilgrim in a land 
 unknown, for that is very much what I feel like. 
 
 I have got the Koran to read, but oh ! it is dull. 
 
 Very very much love. My family are much nicer 
 people than any I have met since. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Luxor. 
 Jan. 30 (1894). 
 
 My little progranmie has begun — and I have been 
 making lovely expeditions. The feeling of loneli- 
 ness is however a good deal dissipated by the furious 
 conversation we have been having at meals — always 
 
 with the two men who arc left — Mr. A and 
 
 the other whose name I have discovered is B . 
 
 We have just managed to keep one meal clear of 
 serious topics, but to-day it has begun again worse 
 than ever. Such as friendship, the value of life, 
 of existence at large, the Salvation Army, sudden 
 conversions, the basis of religion, the distinction 
 of classes, falling in love at lirst sight, isolation, 
 
 and Mr. A 's character — I really can't help it. 
 
 People do suggest odd things here. 
 
 167
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Luxor. 
 Feb. I (1894). 
 
 I have just got your letter, and what I feel 
 moved to write and say is that the upshot of my 
 remark about the World is not that I want any more 
 of it at home (except in the smallest possible driblets), 
 but how enormously and tremendously nicer home 
 is because it hasn't got that element. 
 
 " The world is very evil 
 The times are waxing late " 
 
 is quite what I feel — in the little bit I have had of 
 it — one hears things that make you sick — and I 
 hear remarkably few, I know, of what there are. The 
 only thing I should like more of — it will amuse you, 
 but I feel quite capable of saying it out loud — is 
 the society of young men. I have had much more 
 of that than of girls since I came out — naturally 
 with Fred. 
 
 I think I shall ask Mr. A to come and see 
 
 us. We have got on excellently, more or less off 
 deep ground lately — he isn't genuine exactly — he 
 has asked me to come and see the " Master builder " 
 with him in the summer. Yes I am sure it is good 
 having different kinds of people — but that particular 
 flavour in the atmosphere which I don't know any 
 other name for than the world, however varied, 
 I don't want — and yet I think it is that — the flavour 
 
 rather than exactly the individuals, which E 
 
 thinks us narrow in — you know when you come 
 across it even in men who are on the whole nice, 
 and feel how awfully nice it is that there are men 
 who haven't got it at all, and yet who must have 
 
 168
 
 EGYPT 
 
 come across it. I wonder whether this letter says 
 at all what I mean — one can't write it otherwise 
 than as a soliloquy with all that time between. 
 
 This place grows on one extraordinarily. I 
 don't feel as if I should have really had an idea 
 of Egypt at all if I hadn't stayed here — bas-reliefs 
 of kings in chariots are only now beginning to look 
 individual instead of made on a pattern, and the 
 immensity of the whole thing is beginning to dawn — 
 and the colours, oh my goodness ! You get to see 
 them more every da3^ 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Luxor Hotel, 
 
 Luxor. 
 Feb. 4 (1894). 
 
 I had been thinking all morning how every- 
 thing was going on just as usual at home — the 
 sound of the gong, and doors opening and shuttmg, 
 and the wind coming in from the garden — when 
 suddenly I remembered that you were all travelling 
 too, and it seemed so strange that we should ever 
 leave home at all. . . . 
 
 You go across the sandy plain where Thebes 
 is, and then turn up to what looks like an old water- 
 course among sandstone hills, and after riding 
 some way up you come to a place where there are 
 sandy hillocks all round, and several holes in the 
 ground — inside you go down staircases and galleries, 
 all painted and hieroglyphiced, through most 
 
 169
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 wonderful painted halls, with square pillars, on each 
 side the king meeting one of the gods — often they 
 hold the symbol of life towards him. On most of 
 the passages there are the most awful many-headed 
 creatures often with 4 human legs, they represent 
 the monsters which the soul has to fight in the next 
 world before it attains heaven. It is really tre- 
 mendously interesting. I never thought I should 
 care about Egyptian things so much — and it does 
 make such a difference having plenty of time ; most 
 people, for instance, combine that expedition with 
 seeing two other temples and a steep walk across 
 the mountains ! We saw nothing else, but went 
 through five tombs slowly. While we were in the 
 first a party of tourists came after us — and by the 
 time we had got to the last half of it, we found 
 they had all gone again. 
 
 The Koran is so dull and so silly — I shall have to 
 try to read a little more to-day, but it will fit pretty 
 well with my scheme of religion I think. 
 
 I wish I could write better letters than this. I 
 think it is partly from being so long with people I 
 don't talk very freely to. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Luxor Hotel, 
 
 Luxor. 
 Feb. 10 (1894). 
 
 Post goes to-morrow, and oh joy, comes in too, 
 and though I am rather stupid I think I shall write 
 to-night. I had begun my book and had just got 
 
 170
 
 EGYPT 
 
 to " there are difterent regions in which a man's 
 mind works/' when I found that a woman's mind 
 wasn't going to work at all in that region, and gave 
 it up. 
 
 We had a long ride to-day, horses for once — out 
 through beanfields in flower and corn in the ear 
 in some places. Past Karnak to an old Coptic 
 convent, deserted now, with a curious old Church — 
 then across flat sandy desert to a little hill, where all 
 round one could see pink mountains, with sharp 
 blue shadows where they caught the light. Sandhills 
 outlined by shadows of the clouds that came softly 
 over them— such a mirage too, like a long creek 
 of water, which got misty at the edge, and then 
 increased again as we came towards it. 
 
 Miss A has come — that is nice — I really 
 
 like her — and even when I don't altogether, she 
 interests me. 
 
 There are a few things that are exercising my 
 mind. I think if I didn't mind people's opinion 
 so much, I should find it easier to settle down. I 
 mean I shouldn't be biassed by knowing I was 
 affected by opinion. I am ludicrously— it somehow 
 comes home to one more when one is with people 
 one doesn't agree with fundamentally, and yet 
 one goes on being affected by their opinion in little 
 mean stupid ways that I am ashamed of, and yet I 
 go on doing it — but I'm too much ashamed to tell 
 you ! I suppose that too is self- consciousness ? 
 Adeline said that she felt every day more how much 
 in the way that stood. 
 
 171
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 We have got into the way lately of getting on 
 such fearfully deep ground in conversation, my 
 neighbour at meals and I — as deep as you could 
 have — I think I have done it rather too much, and 
 he's getting bored now. I have resolved not to 
 many times, but something turns up, and we fall 
 to, hammer and tongs, and it goes on the rest of 
 the meal ; I think it is at an end now, however, 
 and this evening we had none. I don't think it 
 is a good plan to do it so much. 
 
 A pair of sparrows has taken to coming into 
 my room lately, and playing games at the window — 
 the birds are wonderfully tame. A less pleasant 
 visitor was a little scorpion I found yesterday 
 walking down the passage outside my room. They 
 are very rare in the house however. There are 
 any amount under the stones at Karnak — they are 
 not at all pleasant to look at. 
 
 You would be so interested in the Egyptian 
 theories — the Ka — who has to be fed in the tomb 
 and lives there. They used to engrave little prayers 
 for passers-by to say, to ask that the Ka might have 
 1000 beeves and geese and onions and beer and some 
 other things, and when the prayer was said, it was 
 all the same to the Ka as having them. The great 
 fear was that the Ka should be starved, or that the 
 bodies they provided for him should be destroyed — 
 because while the Luminous was following the gods, 
 and the soul was fighting with serpents — the Shadow 
 and the Name and the Heart had to wait to be 
 reunited with the Ka. Isn't that nice ? 
 
 Oh I have left such a beautiful little red goddess 
 172
 
 EGYPT 
 
 in Athens. I would never have left her if I thought 
 I shoiildn't be able to fetch her myself. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Luxor. 
 Feb. i8 (1894). 
 
 There is a sort of tragedy going on here which 
 
 A told me about. Small in a way, but one of 
 
 the worst kinds — I must tell you about it. There 
 is a boy, who was at Assouan, and is here now with 
 his mother — quite young, only 22, and looking 
 very nice, but evidently dying of consumption. 
 The mother looks used up, I mean in spirit — which 
 isn't much wonder — as her husband and 3 children 
 died of consumption, and this boy is the last child. 
 She is evidently no companion for him at all — he is 
 never with her — and she sits in the garden quite 
 alone ; at meals she sits a little way off from him. 
 The other day there was no one near her — and 
 neither he nor anyone else seemed to take any notice 
 of her, and she got up suddenly and left the room 
 when lunch was only just begun. Then he is engaged 
 to be married, which of course must be hopeless — and 
 he looks most miserable, with a sort of attempt to 
 keep up appearances in spite of it — but lately he 
 
 has begun to drink — he told Mr. A that he had 
 
 been chiefly drunk for the last week^ — he never looks 
 like it — the other amusement that I heard of his 
 indulging in at Assouan was driving pariah dogs 
 into the desert and spearing them. Of course it 
 sounds most horrid — but it is so pitiable, for the 
 boy is evidently driven to it by a sort of perfectly 
 
 ^7Z
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 reckless despair — and the imhappiness of his mother 
 seems to react again. It is one of the most miserable 
 things I ever saw — and 3^et he looks nice in spite of 
 it. I don't know either him or the mother personally. 
 I don't even know their names — but they sit at 
 another table nearly opposite to me. 
 
 Yon can't think what nice moral maxims old 
 Egyptians used to give vent to. Such as that bad 
 temper must be avoided as the root of evil, and if 
 a man's soul is full of justice, there is no room for 
 bad temper. I can't quote the exact words — but 
 I am going to get books and pursue them further. 
 I think I shall have to get a hieroglyphic dictionary 
 too — you can't think how interesting they are, even 
 a little of them, for the letters mean things in them- 
 selves. 
 
 I looked up in Church this morning and saw 
 through the window waving palm branches, and the 
 top of a house, and a girl standing on it, holding her 
 veil, ready to cover her mouth if anj^one looked at 
 her — I thought of you — for it was exactly the sort 
 of thing to make one feel so far off — and Eastern — in 
 Church you know, with the first lesson going on ! 
 
 [To her Mother.) 
 
 Luxor. 
 Feb. 22 (1894). 
 
 I have engaged a donkey by the day at last. 
 It is a nice little donkey and boy, they offered me 
 low terms — 2s. a day, donkey and backsheesh all 
 included — so I thought it worth while — but the 
 final inducement on the boy's part, was that he 
 
 174
 
 EGYPT 
 
 would wash the donkey and himself and have a 
 clean dress, all of which were much needed, so that 
 .*' somebody he say, dat donkey and boy blongs to 
 Mrs. Benson, very clean donkey, very clean boy — 
 somebody he say dat." The children really are 
 very nice when they are not either lying or begging. 
 
 I have been deliciously dawdling in the garden 
 this afternoon — reading the Browning which Hugh 
 and I so kindly gave you — you may not remember 
 it, as Fred took it to Greece directly after, and I 
 have had it nearly ever since. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Luxor. 
 Feb. 27 (1894). 
 
 One of my little friends has gone. He was so 
 amiable when I had a cold, as to send in a book 
 (he had previously lent me one of Meredith's) in 
 case, if I was unwell, that I should fmd Meredith too 
 stiff. I told him to come and see Lambeth when we 
 get back, he has gone back to study criminal law. 
 The other man is getting a little bored and boring, 
 he asked me to come out a sail with him however 
 the other day, but fortunately there was an excuse 
 ready. People are funny — for one half of the 
 hotel is exceedingly gossippy, and the other appar- 
 ently particularly unconventional. 
 
 It has been cloudy, so I haven't done nmch 
 sketching lately — and it has rained to-day. I found 
 myself contemplating with rapture the scene through 
 a gate at Medinet Habu which consisted of a green 
 
 175
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 field, a cow, and mist — and then realised it was that 
 it looked so English. I haven't left myself enough 
 time and must post this. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Luxor. 
 March 4 (1894). 
 
 We went to the Coptic service this morning — but 
 I shall tell Papa about that. 
 
 There is the sweetest little owl here, about as 
 big as- a fat pigeon, grey, which comes on to the 
 palm-tree outside my window in the evening and 
 mews at intervals through the night— at any rate 
 as long as I am awake to hear him. 
 
 {To her Father.) 
 
 Luxor. 
 March 4 (1894). 
 
 I went with Miss Akers to the Coptic Service 
 this morning — it was most curious — there were 
 about 60 people there altogether though some of 
 them came in very late. It struck one as intensely 
 reverent — the reverence not really disturbed by the 
 fact that every now and then the officiating priest 
 or one of the congregation reproved a fidgetting 
 child in a loud voice, and that when the priest read 
 the wrong gospel, the congregation interrupted him, 
 and a short conversation about the right one ensued. 
 As far as I saw, the priest and two acolytes alone 
 communicated, and in a most curious manner, and 
 the ablutions were performed in a manner displeasing 
 to one's taste, though not irreverent — they gave 
 
 176
 
 EGYPT 
 
 us holy bread afterwards, which the people did 
 not eat there but took away ; it is round, and 
 stamped with crosses and with .coptic words — the 
 only words I can make out at present are ATIOC 
 and 060C but they are not printed distinctly. 
 They sang not unmelodiously, the gospel and some- 
 thing else was read in Arabic, but the other 
 service-book was Coptic. 
 
 [To her Mother.) 
 
 Luxor. 
 March 9 (1894). 
 
 It is SO funny to be so absolutely out of things 
 as we are here — not to have the feeling of what is 
 happening in England at all. Lucy so excited on 
 the political situation quite gives me a turn. We 
 try to talk politics a little, but on the whole talk 
 more about what happened 6,000 years ago, etc., 
 etc. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Luxor. 
 March 11 (1894). 
 
 Such a garden to write in, that it is almost 
 impossible to write. — One thing that keeps attracting 
 one's eyes is a red bougainvillia with sun on it 
 against a background of pale blue sky and greyish 
 palm-trees, it is wonderful — and the birds are dis- 
 tracting. I acquired one of my own yesterday ; 
 as I came through the village I found some horrid 
 
 177 N
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 children holding a young hoopoe up by its wing, 
 its leg being tied up, so I took it away from them — it 
 had had its crown pulled out and it seemed at the 
 last gasp. We revived it with weak whisky and 
 water, and we put hardboiled egg do\vn its throat, 
 and so far it is thriving. 1 left it in a sort of crate 
 on my window-sill, and found it walking about on 
 my balcony — but it can't fly, and isn't old enough 
 to feed itself, so if I can keep it alive, I shall bring 
 it back with me. 
 
 When I came back to my room just now, I 
 found the hoopoe had again got out, walked under 
 the other door, and was half-way down the passage. 
 I recognised him there by his silhouette — he 
 looked wonderfully unbalanced without crown or 
 tail! 
 
 I do want to come back to a place again where 
 I haven't the disposition of my own life quite. One 
 gets to think about nothing except what one wants 
 to do — perhaps a revival of " plans " is good for a 
 bit. 
 
 How is that cat I wonder — you won't forget 
 to tell me, I know. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Luxor. 
 How is my little cat — you said nothing about 
 her in your last letter, so I hope she is better ? 
 My hoopoe has died. He flourished wonderfully 
 for three days, but on the fourth morning he died ; 
 whisky even wouldn't bring him roiuid. It is sad. 
 
 178
 
 EGYPT 
 
 I took his portrait and am going to write a story 
 about him. 
 
 It is hot here. It has been over 80° in the shade 
 for the last week or so. 
 
 The flies are tlie most awful nuisance now too — 
 I came in this morning and found about 500 sitting 
 in rows on my sofa — and a cloud of them in the 
 middle of the room. One girl here, on getting out 
 of bed the other morning, found a little scorpion 
 comfortably curled up where she had been lying — 
 most curiously it hadn't stung her. 
 
 You will be in the middle of the Channel about 
 now — and may it be smooth to you ! Much love 
 to every one. 
 
 Your lovingest daughter, 
 
 Margaret Benson. 
 
 I have been making some drawings of pink 
 mountains lately. I know you won't believe them 
 at all — but they are so nevertheless. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Post-Boat, 
 March 19 (1894). 
 
 How nice it is to be coming the other way — 
 though I nearly cried when I left Luxor. My donkey 
 boy promised me that he would come down and cry, 
 he did squeeze out a tear, but then it occurred to 
 hhn that he hadn't got a knife, so he spent the rest 
 of the time in begging. 
 
 We had a grand expedition on Saturday. A 
 Mrs. Hibbert, Mrs. Stewart and Miss Hudson and 
 two donkey-boys and I started at 4, and rode out 
 
 179
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 into the desert — to a great rock, which we reached 
 about 7. " 'Twas sunset at starting, but when we 
 drew near," the moon rose — then it became quite 
 exciting because— 
 
 (a) We had had to give notice to the head of 
 the police that we were going, for fear the police 
 might meet us and shoot, thinking we were robbers ; 
 
 (b) The head of the police said it was absolutely 
 necessary that we should take a man with us with 
 a gun, to shoot the robbers in case they came, and 
 we told him to come, but he never turned up — 
 being probably afraid of ghosts. 
 
 (c) The head of the police had told one of the 
 party that he was also sending out a patrol after us. 
 I didn't know all this until we were well on the way. 
 But it was lovely — absolutely still, with full moon- 
 light on the rocks and sand. When we had dined, 
 we rode back again over miles of desert apparently, 
 till we came near the cultivated part, and we saw 
 the Ramadan fires where people were cooking their 
 night meals, dogs rushed out and barked at us, it 
 was light enough to have gallops over the sand in 
 places. Then we went back by Kamak, but we 
 saw not one person, no guard, no police, and no 
 robbers. Absolutely no one from the time we reached 
 the desert about 5.30 till we got back into Luxor at 
 II. Then we found a party mounted from the hotel, 
 who were coming to rescue us, and when we got to 
 the hotel itself, we were surrounded by Arabs who 
 received us with howls of joy, as if we had been 
 delivered from brigands. " How are you ? " 
 " Quite well — oh — we Arab men afraid for you — 
 women, excoose me " — and so forth. 
 
 I don't believe there really was any danger at 
 iSo
 
 ITALY 
 
 all — but of course the police had to take all possible 
 precautions. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Villa Palmieri, 
 
 Florence. 
 April 12 (1894). 
 
 I haven't been doing much, except whistling 
 to lizards ; it is so fascinating to see them creep 
 out of their holes to listen. Two got so enraptured 
 with the strains of the Lorelei yesterday that they 
 flew at each other, biting and kicking and rolling over. 
 
 Who shall say I am not musical after that ? I 
 arrested one this morning, as he was climbing over 
 a stone, and all I could see of him was a hind leg 
 and tail until the head appeared too to listen. 
 
 Oh, I do wish I could have gone back to England 
 with you. Never mind — I am at any rate your own 
 daughter. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Villa Palmieri, 
 Florence. 
 April 22 (1894). 
 
 I knew that was the mean trick you and Dr. 
 Ogle were up to — to make me take a course of Aix 
 after a course of Pugny — but I have plenty of 
 reasons against it. 
 
 1. I shan't and won't do it. 
 
 2. Aix will be getting very hot, and I have begun 
 
 to feel heat much more of late. 
 181
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 3. All my friends will be going about the third 
 week in May, and I should have to finish 
 up by myself. 
 
 Besides that, you don't know how much better 
 I should be at home. It is so dull being lazy without 
 all one's things about, and with no little cats to play 
 with. If I don't come home by the i6th of May, 
 I shall feel bound either to begin to do as much as 
 I possibly can, or to worry as much as I possibly 
 can, and you know how bad that would be for me. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Mont Caux Hotel. 
 (1894.) 
 
 I am grateful. I did not realise from the 
 wording of Papa's telegram that he really left me 
 absolutely free, so I wrote saying that unless he ceased 
 to feel that I was acting against his wishes, I would 
 rather not come. 
 
 Your letter puts me absolutely at rest on that 
 score. You needn't really feel afraid of me. I feel 
 that after all this I am so absolutely bound over to 
 keep the peace, that I will. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Llandaff. 
 June 21 (1894). 
 
 I heard Hugh preach on Thursday — and take 
 the service. I was enormously sm-prised with his 
 reading. It is really good and his voice is so 
 extremely pleasant : he intoned very fairly. There 
 
 182
 
 LLANDAFF 
 
 was plenty in his sermon — though he said it was 
 almost entirely out of Godet. He was rather 
 hesitating in manner, but not much, and he preached 
 from notes only. We went to the Vaughans' last 
 night. Mrs. Vaughan was very warm about Hugh, 
 particularly about the interest of his conversation, 
 and thoughtful opinions, and she said the Dean 
 said his writings were very thoughtful. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Llandaff. 
 July 2nd (i8g4). 
 
 We have been spending delightful daj^s — seeing 
 people moderately, arguing immoderately. 
 
 Hugh and I are plunged into such a deep argu- 
 ment on the subject of human relations in relation 
 to Divine relations (that is the simplest description 
 one can give), that we have agreed to write our 
 arguments and send them to each other. 
 
 {To her brother Arthur.) 
 
 Lambeth Palace. 
 (1894.) 
 
 All is well here except that most people are in 
 the depths of despair, e.g., Papa says he shan't 
 ride any more because the road is slippery, and men 
 in the street ask sometimes whether St. Paul would 
 have ridden. But after that we had a very nice ride. 
 
 A keeps turning up at intervals — without 
 
 being asked. Lucy and I were alone one night 
 
 183
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 last week, and tried to do automatic writing, she 
 holding my hand, but all that happened was that 
 " Westerton " declared that his father was a Member 
 of Parliament, and lived in a small house in Pensden 
 — which there's no such place. 
 
 [To her Mother.) 
 
 Farnham Castle, 
 Monday, Oct. 21. 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 We did our journey all right, but the train 
 at Victoria was very late and we only got to Waterloo 
 just in time. I hurried and scuffled along the plat- 
 form and into the carriage and into whose arms did 
 I fall ? Dr. Ord's ! 
 
 He requested me to notice that he was looking 
 at me severelj^ Finally when I got out he gave me 
 strict injunctions not to lift my bag myself. 
 
 It is very nice here — and such a glorious place — 
 and they are very nice. 
 
 Edie has vanished into thin air this morning, 
 so I have been having a good turn at hieroglyphics. 
 I am beginning to see a glimpse of daylight, but 
 when a sentence is literally " that not be sitting 
 down one " and means " that he might not remain 
 alone " it requires some ingenuit}/. 
 
 We had very interesting talk about Miracles 
 last night. 
 
 The Bishop does love having this place and this 
 
 diocese. Don't tell A I said that or she'll 
 
 think it means all sorts of things. 
 
 Your lovingest daughter, 
 
 M. B. 
 184
 
 EGYPT 
 
 {From Miss Gent to Mrs. Benson.) 
 
 Hotel Vesuve, 
 
 Naples. 
 
 Nov. II (1894). 
 
 We are just going off to Church now— Maggie 
 is looking very bright and jolly this morning, and 
 has had a good night. She laughs a great deal- 
 often at me when there is nothing else to laugh at ! 
 but we have had some very amusing times. Do 
 be happy about her ; she seems to me so different 
 from what she was at Seaford. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Mena House Hotel, 
 Cairo. 
 November 23 (1894). 
 
 We haven't been doing much here except sitting 
 in the verandah and looking at donkeys and camels 
 and men, and hills turning pink and blue like the 
 clouds, then fading to ash-colour and then getting 
 rose again in the after-glow. That is so curious 
 here, — the way everything glows, and dies out, and 
 glows again. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Helouan. 
 3rd Dec. {1894). 
 
 My room was lovely to look at at Mena, the whole 
 end of it was " harem " window, this sort of work 
 — a sketch — (that doesn't look very clear) — and at 
 
 185
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 one side of the room was a door which opened 
 straight on to the Sahara — you took about 5 steps 
 and then were on the desert. 
 
 There is a grand view of pyramids — they stand 
 on a ridge beliind which the sun sets — 2 Dashur 
 pyramids, 2 or three at Sakkara— three at Gizeh 
 and some poor attempt between, it is all like an 
 advertisement — or sketches by Dean Stanley's aunt, 
 as Hugh says. 
 
 I was quite forgetting the long story I have to 
 
 tell you. I told you that Q would be proposed 
 
 to here ? The first has occurred — and a most 
 extraordinary one. 
 
 We stayed at the Hotel du Nil 3 days — a German 
 
 sat next Q she spoke to him 3 times I think. 
 
 The first time she said " Do you speak English ? " — 
 and he said " Not enough for conversation " — and 
 I think they made remarks about the weather. 
 And another time they said something about how 
 loud the Arabs read in the University. After we 
 had been a week at Mena she received a violent 
 
 love-letter signed Max . He had found out her 
 
 name and where she was going. The English was 
 curious — he said he lost reason and tranquilisation, 
 and wanted to " knee " before her — then he asked 
 her either to write to him or come to the Gizeh 
 museum the next afternoon. He said that he had 
 since been over to Mena House to trj^ to see her. 
 I thought this might get troublesome, and happily 
 a very nice Mrs. Douglas turned up whom we had 
 met on the Orient — and I talked to her about it. 
 She thought that nothing else would happen, 
 
 186
 
 EGYPT 
 
 but that if he did come and ask for Q we had 
 
 better tell Lady J . Q — — had talked so little 
 
 to the German at the Hotel du Nil, that we weren't 
 even sure if it was he. 
 
 A few days after he appeared at dinner— the 
 German — looking most forbidding. After dinner 
 we went into the drawing-room. After we had been 
 there a little while, he marched in and sat at the 
 other end of the room behind a semi-transparent 
 
 screen where he could dimly see Q . A few 
 
 minutes afterwards, he moved so that he could see 
 her well. Then we went to bed. We were awfully 
 relieved in the mornmg to find he was not staying 
 at the hotel but had only come for dinner. It wasn't 
 pleasant, was it, though some of it was rather funny 
 — but I think it is all over now — he won't come here. 
 
 The Sphinx was much more wonderful even than 
 I had remembered. It may sound bosh what I 
 
 write about it, but Q felt exactly the same as I 
 
 do — the extraordinary wisdom and kindness of it. 
 It is impossible to believe unless you have seen it. 
 Q— — expressed very much what I feel in saying 
 that she should like to confess her sins to it — and 
 the little sins wouldn't be too small for it to attend 
 to. I know this sounds raving madness. 
 
 {To Mrs. Benson from Miss R .) 
 
 Luxor. 
 December 23 (1894). 
 
 You would laugh to see how all the Arab popula- 
 tion remember and greet Maggie. We are stopped 
 
 187
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 at every turn by some fascinating person in a turban 
 who says " You not 'member me ? / 'member 
 you." Her own special donkey-boy almost wept to 
 see her again. I think it is perhaps going a little 
 too far when (as yesterday) she and I ride out 
 each on a donkey, each with a boy — and both boys 
 walk all the time with her and take no notice of me 
 at all, except to give my donkey an occasional cut 
 which sends it half a mile ahead. But it is the same 
 with all the people we have met on the journey, 
 and I am trying to get used to it ! 
 
 1 88
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 EXCAVATION 
 
 It was in 1895 that Maggie took up the work of 
 excavation at Luxor. It became the absorbing 
 interest of the next two years, and she devoted much 
 time to the study of Egyptian archaeology. It 
 was at this time too that she made one of her chiefest 
 friendships with Miss Nettie Gourlay, whom she met 
 in Egypt. Miss Gourlay joined her in the work of ex- 
 cavation, and they wrote together an account of their 
 exploration, which was published by Mr. John Murray 
 in 1899, under the title of The Temple of Mut in 
 Asher. Her letters tell their own story : — 
 
 (7^0 her Mother.] 
 
 Luxor. 
 Dec. 31, 1894. 
 
 Finally when we got on our donkeys I hadn't 
 finished bargaining about one thing, a blue net of 
 beads for which the man asked 10/-, so they followed 
 us. Then Mahommed acted as arbitrator, and the 
 following conversation ensued as we were going on, 
 the man following behind and at our side. 
 
 Mahommed to me " Take him for 6 shillin ? " 
 (the blue net in his hand). 
 
 Owner of the net, " No, no, ten." 
 189
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 I refuse. 
 
 Mahommed, after a moment — " All right, take 
 him for 5 ? " 
 
 I, " Too much." 
 
 Mahommed, after a little while, " Take him for 
 4 then ? " 
 
 Owner. " No, ten shillin." 
 
 Mahommed goes to the man and takes two 
 necklaces from him, and holds them out with the 
 blue net, 
 
 " So take him for four." 
 
 I — " But the man won't let me have them for 
 four." 
 
 Mahommed, "It is all right." And the man 
 takes his money like a lamb. 
 
 (To her Mother.) 
 
 Luxor. 
 Jan. 2 (1895). 
 
 The Excavation is allowed. It's lovely — though 
 the Museum claims everything that is found. I 
 don't think much will be found of little things, only 
 walls, bases of pillars, and possibly Cat-Statues. 
 I am already in treaty for a tent. I shall feel rather 
 like— 
 
 " Massa in the shade would lay 
 While wc poor niggers toiled all day " — 
 
 for I am to have a responsible overseer, and my chief 
 duty apparently will be paying. I find that I am 
 beginnmg to be considered in the light of an 
 Egyptologii,t. 
 
 190
 
 EXCAVATION 
 
 Your questions — I like to do nothing better than 
 to answer them. To begin with I am really im- 
 mensely happy. The difference in feeling is so 
 enormous now one begins to get better. Instead 
 of idling as a pursuit, one has pursuits and idles for 
 pleasure — and it is so much easier to do that in this 
 climate. This afternoon I sent Kitty to the races 
 — and lay in the garden under the half shade of 
 palm leaves, and looked over one of my stories, 
 and read up the last chapter of The Philanthropist, 
 and planned some more, and thought about them, 
 and had tea, and talked to some people who wandered 
 round — and then came in to write. I haven't been 
 at all active — in the morning I sit north of the gate 
 opposite the Nile and draw camels, and have scraps 
 of conversation with idle people who lounge round, 
 and with scarab-sellers who bargain with Kitty, 
 till she ends by buying 4 large false scarabs and an 
 amulet for a shilling. Then the people are amusing 
 and different. Two or three girls with whom we 
 
 play knucklebones at all opportunities. Mrs. A 
 
 is one of them — another confided to Kitty and me 
 her trouble with her mother, who is thoroughly 
 old-fashioned, and I have invited her to see you — 
 if you can ? Then M. Naville and Mr. Hogarth 
 come from across the river, and we talk about 
 Osiris. Just now, since I have been writing, the 
 Coptic priest's son knocked at my door, having come 
 to call upon me. The German consul, with whom 
 I have had dealings, came to see me yesterday and 
 gave me a blue Ushabti figure with " A happy new 
 Year " written by himself round the stand of it. 
 
 191
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 (To her Father.) 
 
 Luxor Hotel. 
 Feb. 13 (1895). 
 
 My dearesi Papa, 
 
 We have had such a splendid hnd at the 
 Temple of Mut that I must write to tell you about it. 
 
 We were just going out there on Monday, when 
 we met one of our boys who work there running to 
 tell us that they had found a statue. When we got 
 there they were washing it, and it proved to be a 
 black granite figure about 2 feet high, knees up to 
 its chin, hands crossed on them, one hand holding 
 a lotus. The face is quite charming, and the hair 
 very well done — the limbs are not shown but the 
 surface is modelled according to the curves of the 
 limbs. 
 
 Round the front and part of the side runs a 
 hieroglyphic inscription — it is i8th d5niasty. 
 
 The figure was too small to be left in the temple, 
 so we were making arrangements for bringing it 
 back here — until I go down, and take it to the 
 Museum, when the Inspector of Antiquities (an 
 Arab official) appeared and in spite of all we could 
 say insisted on carrying if off to a little temple which 
 they use as a store-house. 
 
 I wrote at once to M. Daressy, under whose 
 supervision I was put, asking whether I might not 
 have it here. I had not even had time properly 
 to examine it. He came over yesterday and went 
 to see it. He was exceedingly kind, said it was rather 
 hard that I should not have " la jouissance de la 
 statue que vous avez trouve," which was just what 
 I felt. So he translated the inscription for me and 
 let me take it back. It has been outside the hotel 
 
 192
 
 EXCxWATION 
 
 to-day to be looked at and photographed, and then 
 I am going to have it in my room. 
 
 {From E. F. Benson to Mrs. Benson.) 
 
 (1896.) 
 
 We lament the fewness of our days on this boat 
 and the shortness of them : she is doing her lessons 
 in the morning, her sleep in the afternoon, her 
 embroidery (chiffon) after tea, and after dinner we 
 play beziqiie. There are only three other people on 
 the boat, and they are dull and we don't find time 
 to talk to them. 
 
 So that's the budget of news from your wander- 
 ing children ; they don't feel at all as if they were 
 going out in the dark, in fact there is a beautiful 
 moon every night. The Great Bear is awfully 
 upside down. Please tell Papa, I will try to re- 
 member to draw it to-night. Also unless my 
 picture was right, and his wrong, the horses in Egypt 
 at any rate are at the end of the chariot, where I 
 drew them, and for which I was laughed at. 
 
 Maggie is wonderfully better. But I don't 
 think anything has improved more than her mind, 
 though she was always cheerful, happy and in- 
 terested, and the most charming of companions. 
 Really my family are very nice ! 
 
 {To her brother Arthur.) 
 
 Luxor. 
 Jan. 4, 1896. 
 
 We had a good journey out here ; we endured 
 grimly indeed on board the Messagerie; it was far 
 
 193 o
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 from clean, I think those boats are ; and the sea 
 was rough. But we were not ill. Fred missed one 
 meal, I believe, and made one or two of apples and 
 wine — which reminded me of your quotation, " Stay 
 me with apples, comfort me with flagons." On the 
 last morning there came out a troop of pale people 
 whom we had never seen during the voyage. 
 
 Our days up the Nile I believe you would have 
 liked, though I know your mind does not incline 
 to Egypt. We had only 3 people besides ourselves 
 on a boat meant for thirty. They never spoke to 
 us ; except perhaps 3 times during 4 days. For 
 those 4 days too we never landed ; we sat in com- 
 fortable chairs and saw beautiful country pass us, 
 with a smooth shining river all round. 
 
 Fred used to begin his work after breakfast, 
 sitting in the front of the boat in the sun ; I mine 
 in the shade about 10. Then we lunched and then 
 we slept, and after that we did our lessons and read 
 novels till tea, and the same after ; and we played 
 Rubicon bezique after dinner ; nobody interi-upted 
 us, and Fred made it clearly understood that I was 
 not to point out objects of interest to him ; so that 
 I drew his attention to nothing, not even 18 large 
 vultures quarrelling over a carcase. 
 
 Here he sometimes works in the morning, and 
 always in the evening. For the rest of the day he 
 goes over to the other side ; where I join him 
 sometimes in the afternoon. You ride through 
 beanlields in flower, which give a heavenly scent, 
 by pink hills, tumbled sandhills, and precipices full 
 of blue shadow, to a temple, and then have tea ; 
 while 20 Arabs or more collect round with things 
 to sell, for which one has to bargain wildly. Then 
 
 194
 
 EXCAVATION 
 
 back across this river, where one sees an orange 
 sunset one side, and niglit coming over the other 
 half of the sky, with a moon above the temple, 
 shining on the water. 
 
 {To hey Mother.) 
 
 Luxor. 
 Jan. 12, 1896. 
 
 There is such a nice expression here which the 
 boys call " a laughing word." If you are asked for 
 backsheesh you reply " feel mish-mish," which means 
 " when the apricot ripens "—or never. 
 
 There was a very funny incident yesterday, a 
 fellah had been bothering two American ladies for 
 backsheesh and rather frightened them. They 
 reported this, and the Chaplain said he must be 
 punished. So yesterday morning, he and one of 
 the Americans sallied out, with a dragoman and a 
 policeman, qualified by being the best runner in 
 his corps. As they went, the policeman remarked 
 that he hadn't brought his sword, but that if there 
 were 10 men he could bring them all. When they 
 got there, a long walk, they found a little boy only. 
 The policeman swaggered until the little boy burst 
 into tears, and had to be comforted. At last they 
 found out the names of three men who had been 
 ploughing in the field, and the policeman sat down 
 on their doorsteps to wait until they returned from 
 market, while the others came home. In the after- 
 noon he appeared, with the three men walking 
 meekly about 10 yards behind him ; the guilty 
 man was identified, and the others were allowed to 
 
 195
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 return. No apologies or compensation for having 
 been arrested and made to walk about 6 miles ! 
 The other man, rather pleased at being an object 
 of interest to the population, never made a protest, 
 though nothing was proved against him, but went off 
 quite meekly to prison. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Assouan. 
 Jan. 23, 1896. 
 
 While Fred and the Rivingtons went to see some 
 tombs, I went to look for those agate-like stones 
 on the island and was followed by a throng of 
 mocking boys — viz., a boy who was carrying my 
 things for me ; a boy who feebly chased away the 
 other boys from time to time, when I threatened 
 him with no backsheesh, a very pretty little Bishari 
 with a beautiful fringe, dressed in an earth-coloured 
 old sheet and with strings of shells and amber round 
 his neck ; a boy who said he was a Syce. Another 
 boy in no way distinguished and a most irritating 
 boy on a donkey. Finally I got so worked up, 
 that I chastised one with a parasol, and by guile 
 getting the stick of the other and the ornament of 
 his donkey, I threw them away. Afterwards they 
 were a little quieter. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Hatasu, 
 
 Nearing Luxor. 
 Jan. 26, 1S96. 
 
 Your bonnet-box has been housing 18 young 
 sparrows most of the day. A man at Edfu had 
 
 196
 
 EXCAVATION 
 
 about 2 dozen on a string. I took them from him 
 — he gave them quite meekly ; but I didn't know 
 whether I should be able to keep them without giving 
 him anything. However, we were firm, and the 
 population gradually veered round in our favour, 
 and finally said he was a bad man, and suggested 
 we should give him a stick for backsheesh, so we 
 flourished a buffalo whip in his face. McPherson * 
 acted like a " Trojan " and unpacked the bonnet- 
 box to put them in, and cut them free which was an 
 awful job, and I think I could hardly have done it 
 myself. Then they all romped all over the cabin 
 — 2 were so much hurt that we killed them, one was 
 killed by something falling on it, 2 fiew away, and 
 at Esneh, she went out and bought a beautiful 
 Soudanese basket for the other 18. I shall let out 
 all that I think fit into the garden at Luxor, and 
 keep the others for a day or two ; if they don't 
 seem likely to recover we must kill them — but at 
 present most look extremely perky and eat quantities 
 of bread crumbs. 
 
 {To her Mother. 
 
 Mut. 4 P.M. 
 Jan. 31 (1896). 
 
 I must send you a little line from here to tell 
 you we have begun. Yesterday morning, Jeanie f 
 came with me, and a Miss Gourlay who is going to 
 help ; we found a howling mob of boys and men, 
 and I offered the reis-ship to a man of last year, at 
 3 piastres a day, regular wages, instead of 4 — it was 
 
 * My sister's maid. f Lady Jane Lindsay.
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 accepted with gratitude. We hadn't much diffi- 
 culty in engaging men, but when we came to boys 
 they all began to shout their own names, and press 
 up to us. We took up three different positions — 
 first drawing a line over which they might not come 
 — but they did— then in a gateway, trusting to the 
 reis and the men to keep them back, which they 
 couldn't. Then on an elevated stone, from which 
 all the rest of the time I was hurling small boys. 
 We took the first 15 names suggested (5 men, 3 
 boys to each) — about then first Fred, then Mr. 
 Hogarth arrived and helped to chase people away, 
 and we settled to work. 
 
 {Lady Jane Lindsay to Mrs. Benson.) 
 
 Assuan. 
 Feb. I St (1896). 
 
 How I have wished you could have stepped 
 into my shoes when they walked about Luxor 
 Hotel Garden in search of Maggie last Tuesday. 
 She is looking so well — and is in highest spirits 
 about her own health — I wish you could just see 
 her, so full of vigour and quick movements. 
 
 By greatest luck they had just returned from a 
 trip to Assuan, and now she has commenced digging. 
 I went with her the first day and witnessed a scene 
 I would have given much to " snap " — Maggie the 
 centre of a howling mob with a copj^-book in one 
 hand and courbash in the other — some score of 
 individuals beyond the number she desired, being 
 determined to get their names inscribed as labourers. 
 Now and then she retired to try and stand on a 
 
 198
 
 EXCAVATION 
 
 place of vantage — but unless one was hung from a 
 ceiling, there is here no possibility ever of getting 
 out of reach of the natives. 
 
 I watched and listened to the screams, thinking 
 no solution could ever be reached when, lo — it 
 suddenly appeared to be all over— and her book was 
 tilled with the names of grinning owners, who 
 immediately began picking the ground. Yesterday 
 I heard already there had been a find — a man's head 
 in basalt — and some other little things. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Luxor. 
 Feb. 7 (1896). 
 
 I lunched at Mut to-day. A few minutes after 
 I had begun, my reis came — such a picturesque 
 figure in a long, longsleeved rough brown garment 
 with a long palm stick in his hand, and rather a fine 
 rugged face. He was holding an earthenware bowl 
 in both hands, and it appeared it was for me full 
 of curds and whey. I took some, and when I had 
 finished, sent the remains of my lunch, which 
 happened to be rather large, out to him and Ma- 
 hommed. Several other men sat round and ate 
 with them, and one of them took some of it, and the 
 bowl, when they had finished, to the rest of the men 
 who sat further off. They are always so exceedingly 
 polite about sharing their food with one another. 
 
 We have been trying to get a great corner-stone 
 up to-day. We had one good but short crowbar, 
 another which had been bent and appeared sickle- 
 like. At one point when they were all tugging at 
 
 ■t99
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 a rope it broke and ten or eleven of them went flat 
 down shouting with laughter. Immediately another 
 man picked up the broken cord, unravelled a bit 
 of it and made a belt for himself of it, looking at me 
 with a smile. 
 
 Much love to every one. Please thank Lucy 
 very much for her letter — but say I shall just wear 
 whichever hat I like — and if her thoughts of her 
 little sister in a strange land centre upon hatS' — no 
 climax strong enough occurs to me. 
 
 Your lovingest daughter, 
 M. B. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Luxor. 
 Feb. 9 (1896). 
 
 This is just a line to report progress. We 
 found a rose-granite Osiride sitting statue of Rameses 
 II. yesterday.* Not a portrait statue probably, 
 but very nice ; the bottom part was completely 
 rotted, so that it broke in half, and the knees and 
 one shoulder were broken off, but the top part and 
 face are very good. Also we have got the largest 
 cat — in pieces — that I have ever seen ; the head 
 is perfect, disk half broken, but uraeus perfect, it 
 belongs to the colossal feet. We have now got 
 down to the comer-stone, and are going to dig 
 under it for deposit to-morrow. Every day before 
 yesterday when we thought we had got to the 
 bottom another layer of stone appeared. 
 
 * This statue was given to my sister, and is now at Tremans. 
 200
 
 EXCAVATION 
 
 The Duke of Cambridge has just gone — taking 
 all our butter with him — none for tea, but there 
 remain an Austrian Archduke and at least 5 
 Countesses, i Viscountess, and a few Earls and some 
 lesser lights. The Comptons have come back which 
 is nice — she is so delightful. 
 
 {From E. F. Benson to his Mother.) 
 
 Luxor. 
 Feb. 14 (1896). 
 
 Maggie is much better ; doesn't get tired and 
 was so lively the other night at dinner with the 
 Whites and Lady Galloway, that you wouldn't 
 have known your own daughter. I think the 
 winter has just crystallized all the cure set up 
 before. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Luxor Hotel. 
 Feb. 14, 1896. 
 
 Such a lot has been happening, and all 
 Wednesday was so much taken up that I couldn't 
 write to you. Even now I am quite fussed. 
 
 On Tuesday I went out about 10.45 to get the 
 stone moved over one angle of the wall, that was 
 done without very much difficulty, but lo-en-behole 
 while they were chipping away the earth out came 
 half a statue in alabaster of a little Scribe. 
 
 The thing was opened at lunch-time and the 
 Scribe was found, so though I had intended to go 
 
 201
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 back to lunch, I sent for lunch, and rested in an 
 angle of the wall with my eye on that corner. Fred 
 was to come at 2.30. About 2 we resumed work, 
 and soon came to another stone ; following that up 
 with care, another little statue, broken and headless, 
 and so on and on ; when Fred came, I couldn't go, 
 for they were coming faster and faster, and by 
 4 o'clock there were 2 kneeling statues, one black 
 granite, one alabaster, 2 more squatting statues of 
 black granite, beside the half-alabaster one, two 
 single sitting statues, and one double one of a man 
 and his wife — parts of 8 figures in all, and a pair 
 of black granite feet but only one head — that one 
 exactly like the Wooden Man of Boulak. 
 
 Then there descended on us M. Legrain, Govern- 
 ment Excavator of Karnak, and upbraided me with 
 having taken all the things to the hotel, saying he 
 should take all the little statues to his store-house. 
 I very nearly wept, and called Fred, who was slightly 
 rude. M. Legrain became much more polite and 
 finally said if we chose to take the whole responsi- 
 bility of their safety, we could take them back, and 
 he would write to De Morgan. So we did. Though 
 they are broken, they are mostly inscribed, and Mr. 
 Newberry who has been looking over them says 
 they are very interesting. He is coming to read 
 the whole lot to-morrow. One is an inspector of 
 recruits, one tutor of the royal children, especially 
 Prince Thothmes. One keeper of the treasures, 
 one a judge and his wife, one a judge. 
 
 Since then we have found another which fits 
 to the feet inscribed, and a piece of the alabaster 
 kneeling one, and another body. Also a large royal 
 statue in black granite, partly defaced but very fine. 
 
 202
 
 EXCAVATION 
 
 Also a rare twelfth dynasty cartouche and piece of 
 inscription on alabaster. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Luxor. 
 Feb. 20, i8q6. 
 
 I had a crisis moment the other day of looking 
 back and seeing what an extraordinary change there 
 is in all one's ways and feelings even since coming 
 out. That all the health measures are not invalid 
 measures but precautionary now — that one's life is 
 doing things with rests, not vice versa. That no one 
 asks about my health now and so forth. It is 
 funny and nice. 
 
 Luxori 
 Feb. 23 (i 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 The Wantages have got the dearest baby gazelle 
 I ever saw and the most hideous chameleon. You 
 would love it ; it is a terrible dry thing, that looks as 
 if it was badly made out of green linen, rouglily sewn 
 up, with horrible cynical eyes that turn everyway but 
 never together, and a thick pink tongue that can 
 be accurately shot at a fly to the distance of 5 inches. 
 
 Perhaps I shall bring back a Soudanese kitten, 
 it is a different species, and I have only once seen 
 and once heard of it in England. I shouldn't keep 
 it except to solace me here, where I simply thirst 
 
 203
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 for my cats and Taffy * — and dispose of it in England 
 at any rate if Persis didn't like it. 
 
 Our hole goes on and on, and can only be got at 
 by a very little boy with a trowel. We have built 
 the Chamber door up with stones for Sunday, on 
 which I have written my initials with sand and a 
 guardian is appointed. In other words we rolled 
 great stones to the door of it and departed, sealing 
 the stones and setting a watch — not literally that. 
 There may be a deposit at the bottom, and in any 
 case the chamber is quite unlike anything in any 
 other temple. I was there most of the day yester- 
 day and paid wages in the evening. The men are 
 getting so polite since. 
 
 50 many thanks for the photograph of Stevenson 
 — I do so like to have it. I found quite unexpectedly 
 that Miss Gourlay absolutely shared m}^ sentiments 
 about Stevenson. Also she is immensely interested 
 in metaphysical questions. I like her extremely ; 
 not the least — not the slightest touch of Schwar- 
 merei but thorough interested liking. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Rameses III. 
 March 20, 1896. 
 
 Fred has really been the dearest boy all through. 
 He says that after I am well, he shall advertise him- 
 self as companion to an invalid lady — really I will 
 recommend him highly. 
 
 Things are so exciting here — all the morning we 
 
 * My sister's collie. 
 204
 
 EXCAVATION 
 
 have been passing post and tourist boats with barges 
 fastened to them, going up to Girgeh to meet the 
 troops. We towed two barges as far down as 
 Girgeh — to which troops go by train. Yesterday, 
 going to Abydos, they passed strings of camels laden 
 with corn going up. After being here all this time 
 one cannot but feel thankful that they are going 
 against these fanatic tribes, who raid villages, under 
 the control of a drunken Calipha — the thing is so 
 full of savagery. All the season of course one felt 
 it was coming nearer and nearer — one was con- 
 stantly hearing of camels loaded with ammunition 
 going into the Soudan being stopped, Mr. Walrond, 
 the Goschens' friend, caught seven — yet of course 
 no one expected it so soon. 
 
 Just before I left Luxor I had a talk with an 
 old man called there Nikola de Khartoum, who was 
 there when it fell — saw Gordon cut to pieces, had 
 his own throat cut, but escaped in the darkness of 
 the night and was taken on board the first boat that 
 reached Khartoum. 
 
 {To her brother Arthur. 
 
 Hotel Angleterre, 
 Cairo. 
 
 March 31, 1896. 
 
 Will it make you take more interest in my scribe 
 to tell you that he isn't dogheaded or pigheaded — 
 but that he came out after some thousands of years 
 of burying with a young, calm smiling face, and a 
 lotus in his hand, and that, being a scribe of the 
 royal household he describes himself as " one who 
 
 205
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 shuts his mouth about what his eyes have seen." 
 I shall have a cast of him sent home in all probability 
 — so you will make nearer acquaintance. He is of 
 some value — worth £150 or £200 — so probably the 
 museum will keep the statue itself. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Aix. 
 May 15 (1896). 
 
 I like her * more and more — I haven't liked any 
 one so well for years. She is so nmch more free 
 than almost any woman I know from anything small 
 or cheap or common or coarse. It's funny — I can't 
 
 help contrasting her in some ways with T . I 
 
 don't know why, except that T is the last 
 
 person I began to know — and it's so strange in T 
 
 how everything — troubles, pains, even good things, 
 almost the best things — seem twisted to an egotistic 
 end. So exactly the reverse with Nettie — I never 
 knew any one whose theory of life so disregarded 
 enjoyment — too much I think — yet though I don't 
 suppose she is happy, you couldn't call her unhappy 
 because in a sense, she is bigger than that. 
 
 [2^0 her Mother.) 
 
 Aix. 
 May 18 (1896). 
 
 I have got a lovely new French hat, which you 
 will like and Lucy may think vulgar. 
 
 * Mibt, Gourlay. 
 206
 
 AIX 
 
 Nettie — how can I keep you up in this, for it 
 changes so every day — oh, I hope you'll like her — 
 you can't help it if you know her, but she is so 
 horribly shy. She is only 33, but she makes me 
 feel like a little girl sometimes — and you know I 
 don't do that particularly easily — I feel essentially, 
 I mean, the same age as Lucy, for instance — but 
 when Nettie has had bad times, she has had to get 
 through them alone ; it is so unnatural to her to be 
 unreserved, and I don't think circumstances have 
 aided it. She told me she hadn't ever talked so much 
 to any one before. Oh, Mother, it's so odd to me 
 to make a friendship like this — generally there has 
 been something in the way — mostly I've not been 
 sure of the other person, and generally I've had a 
 radical element of distrust. But here one can't 
 help trusting her absolutely, and it's only myself I 
 distrust. She is so much bigger, and so much finer 
 and more delicate in mind than most women. We 
 
 were talking about S yesterday, and she abhors 
 
 the clash of temperaments — and then she has a 
 much bigger patience and gentleness. I don't think 
 her perfect — preserve me from it ! but there's 
 nothing small nor hard about her. There — I wanted 
 you to know. Do you remember my saying you 
 didn't like my friends ? and there was a truth in 
 that — but I think I'm ceasing to be attracted by the 
 brute. You know what I mean. 
 
 What did I cross out ? vSomething like this — 
 that it's inconceivable to me how people get on who 
 haven't you. 
 
 Your lovingcst daughter, 
 
 Margaret Benson. 
 
 207
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Aix. 
 May 20 (1896). 
 
 Yes you will like Nettie, if she will speak more 
 than 5 consecutive words. She reminds me of Aunt 
 Nora in some ways — also do you know that thing of 
 Jeremy Taylor's on a " Young Lady " ? one sentence 
 that I loved in that is awfully like her, that " She 
 had not much of the outside of godliness, but was 
 hugely careful for the spirit and power of it." 
 
 She was down here all yesterday, i.e. for luncheon, 
 for tea, and for dinner — you can't think how new 
 this sort of thing is to me. Except you and Tan, 
 I don't know any one in the world I admire so much 
 — (this is sober not emotional). It amused me that 
 I dreamt last night I found that she was a Bible 
 Christian, and though I felt I couldn't approve of 
 Bible Christianism, I was sure if she was one that 
 it must be all right. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Aix. 
 May 25 {1896). 
 
 I see I gave you dates all wrong. Sunday is 
 14th so if I waited a clear ten days I shouldn't be 
 home till the eve of my birthday. I feel as if 
 I should rather be hurried into being 31 if that 
 were so. 
 
 208
 
 AIX 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Aix. 
 
 May 30, 1896. 
 
 I had the whole afternoon with Nettie. I have 
 begun educating her on the subject of talking and 
 unreserve — and reduced her to despair by saying that 
 I thought over everything I was going to say to her 
 about 5 times before I said it or wrote — (a good deal 
 of truth in that) after which for some time all I could 
 get out of her was " what a brute I must be 1 " 
 
 {To her Father.) 
 
 Aix-les-Bains. 
 May 31, 1896. 
 
 Thank you so much for looking out that note on 
 the first verses of S. John for me. There is another 
 parallelism I want to draw out — the end of the 
 Gospel and the end of the Apocalypse — both ending 
 with the promise of the Second Coming, and both 
 with the warrant of the testifier, a sort of seal in 
 the one case on the truth of the relation, and in the 
 other on the truth of the revelation — like the Grace 
 of our Lord Jesus Christ in S. Paul's Epistles — and 
 then the extraordinary touch of reality, if it is the 
 same man who ends the Gospel by "If I will that 
 he tarry till I come " — and the Revelation, " Even 
 so come. Lord Jesus." It all fits so strangely 
 together. Do you think I could draw out a parallel 
 on these lines ? 
 
 209
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Pugny Les Coibieres, 
 Aix. 
 June 5, 1896. 
 
 I have got such a bad pen that I can't write 
 well. It's perfectly true, by the way, about my 
 writing copperplate to Papa — I feel it myself — also 
 I know where he wants place and date put — it was 
 ages ago he taught me, so I do it accordingly. 
 
 I dreamt of you, that I came home and found 
 you hadn't troubled to read my letter about the 
 doctor's report and wouldn't either. 
 
 Nettie's education is getting on, thank you — 
 excellently in some ways, and she talks much more 
 when we are alone — but relapses into almost com- 
 plete silence with anybody else there. No she will 
 be horribly shy of Papa, but it must be done. 
 
 [To Miss Gourlay.) 
 
 Lambeth Palace. 
 
 June 23 (1896). 
 
 The Bishops are having their devotional — or as 
 the porter here calls it their " happy day." It is 
 very embarrassing, because they are all about the 
 house and garden, but are not supposed to speak 
 until after lunch. At the same time if you meet, 
 as I did, a Bishop you know quite well on the stairs, 
 you can't pretend not to see him. I have been 
 lurking in by-ways of the garden with Taffy, trying 
 to avoid them. Ra * with Lucy after him, rushed 
 
 * Persian cat. 
 210
 
 LAMBETH 
 
 into the middle of them while they were meditating 
 in the drawing-room. I am getting to love Ra — 
 there is a mixture of sentimentality and delirious 
 gaiety about him. 
 
 {To Miss Gourlay.) 
 
 Lambeth Palace, 
 July ist (1896). 
 
 I think I was right in my conclusions about Miss 
 for she has written me a savage letter, 
 
 without any beginning, saying that she does wish 
 to see me. I am ve)y sorry for her. How we shall 
 proceed now / don't know. I think she is one of 
 the people who want clashes of temperaments, and 
 like to be savage to the people they like — a little like 
 Lucy Snowe in some ways. 
 
 [To Miss Gourlay.) 
 
 Lambeth Palace, 
 
 July 2, 1896. 
 
 I had a nightmare-like half-hour last night when 
 it was discovered, just before dinner, that a note 
 had come in the morning from a rather principal 
 lady, who put off at the last moment, and asked 
 whether her daughter should come instead ; as it 
 hadn't been answered, we didn't know who would 
 come, and I had to make 2 new plans, i in case the 
 daughter came, the other if she didn't. When I had 
 done that, it was found that a violent Radical was 
 being taken in by a member of the Government ; 
 
 211
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 so I had to make another, and then found a husband 
 sitting by his wife. By the time I had corrected 
 that, people were already beginning to arrive, and 
 my plans were in pencil, and illegible to anyone but 
 myself. However, they got in all right, but it's no 
 wonder that my own particular nightmare is of that 
 order — of a lot of people to dinner and everything 
 unarranged. I saw a letter from you waiting for 
 me in the middle of it, which had a calming effect 
 on the nerves. 
 
 {To Miss Gonrlay.) 
 
 Lambeth Palace. 
 
 July 3, 1896. 
 
 It's odd, when one gets tired, the way in 
 which vague fears and depressions and feelings of 
 powerlessness, which I got used to in the last 2 years, 
 come dimly back, just in the way clouds grow and 
 fade on a hot day. It's rather a comfort to know 
 how physical those things are. 
 
 I couldn't go down to the Eton Mission yesterday 
 as I wanted, for it was such a horrid day. Hugh 
 wants me to come on Sunday (which naturally I'm 
 not going to do) when they have he says " a sort of 
 Sacred Flower Show." 
 
 Oh you don't know the difference it makes to 
 know you — and how much more it makes me care 
 for what happens to other people. Do you under- 
 stand ? I daresay not, — but I am quite serious. 
 
 212
 
 LAMBETH 
 
 {To Miss Gourlay.) 
 
 Lambeth Palace. 
 July 12 (1896). 
 
 It is a heavy, hot day here, and I am rather tired 
 and feel very cross — not about anything particular, 
 but in the sort of condition when one feels it would 
 be very undesirable to be contradicted. I went to 
 the Abbey with Mrs. Mylne this morning, and came 
 back in an absolutely crowded boat, after standing 
 for a long time on a crowded pier. 
 
 Then we took Taffy into the garden, and he 
 having discovered my father sitting in a quiet place 
 to read, fetched a sort of young tree — quite black — 
 and, as my father said, threw it at him several times. 
 I caught sight of him flourishing it round and over 
 my father's book, and had to go to the rescue. 
 
 {To Miss Gourlay.) 
 
 Addington Park. 
 July 14 (1896). 
 
 It's deliciously sunshiny and cool after London, 
 and I'm writing out of doors under a big cedar, 
 which is the nicest thing here : we always camp out 
 under it in summer, and it's so big that you can 
 have two or three sets of people talking about 
 different things without disturbing each other at 
 all. I wish you were here, but as this is a week of 
 severe discipline in that way, it's not much good 
 wishing anything. Arguments have been raging. 
 Hugh and his friend have been at the retreat together 
 
 213
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 hearing Father Maturin's addresses. I hadn't been 
 here for lo minutes, before Hugh had got out his 
 notes and begun to read them. He would hardly 
 let me ask questions, and when I objected to things, 
 I was forced after a bit to put notes down on paper 
 to be argued afterwards, because he wouldn't let 
 me argue at the time. So it raged all through 
 dinner, and after dinner, until Hugh grew too 
 impatient, and said he wanted to talk about some- 
 thing simple like strawberries and cream. So we 
 came out here, and of course began again at once 
 and went on till lo. We have had a little turn at 
 it this morning in my room. 
 
 The arguments turned chiefly on 
 
 1. Whether you could take the history of the 
 Old Testament in any true way as symbolic of the 
 history of a soul. 
 
 2. Marriage. 
 
 3. W^hether a priest's life is required to be holier 
 than any other life. 
 
 4. Asceticism and discipline. 
 
 5. Whether a religious life should detach you 
 from the world — in the large sense. 
 
 6. Suffering — what is the cause of it ? 
 
 These were the main points. I found myself 
 supported on the whole by Mr. Marshall, the friend — 
 which was a comfort, as Hugh has a wild way of 
 attributing all sorts of arguments to one that one 
 doesn't believe in, and mad metaphors that one 
 wouldn't use. 
 
 214
 
 ETON 
 
 {To Miss Gourlay.) 
 
 Eton College, 
 Windsor. 
 August 6 (1896). 
 
 Dearest, 
 
 I abstained from writing this afternoon until 
 I had cleared off some letters that were on my 
 
 conscience, particularly one to A . I think what 
 
 is the matter with A is that she is partly morbid, 
 
 partly overworked, and partly that she had, and 
 perhaps unconsciously cultivates, a greater suscepti- 
 bility to pain than to pleasure of every kind. She 
 really feels things, but more than is natural — and 
 she isn't aware that feeling them so much is abnormal 
 and undesirable. I don't know whether there is 
 any possible treatment for that kind of thing — 
 it makes her go through much unnecessary suffering. 
 
 My dear you are really absurd about those 
 patterns — it is exactly like the scene at your dress- 
 makers — why shouldn't I be allowed to take an 
 interest in your dresses ? And why should I be 
 unable to have any sympathy with the things you 
 are doing ? Please remember my abnormal develop- 
 ments in the way of stoles. But if I can't have any 
 sympathy with them, I can anyhow have all the 
 more with your doing them. This place is really 
 charming — I have been sitting in Arthur's garden 
 this morning, doing German, and this afternoon 
 writing letters. It has a view of Eton, and is close 
 to the river. And a small bird which I think was 
 a flycatcher, insufficiently fledged, came and sat on 
 a pole near me. We — Fred and I, — are going back 
 to-morrow evening. 
 
 Dearest, I am so glad you are really interested 
 
 215
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 in that book. I have such heaps more to say if only 
 I could bring it into form. I want to talk over the 
 last chapter with you dreadfully — I want now to 
 write a series of introductions and a series of con- 
 clusions. 
 
 Well I must stop, Dearest, I want to see you. 
 
 Yours, M. B. 
 
 {To Miss Gourlay.) 
 
 Addington Park. 
 August lo (1896). 
 
 Dearest, 
 
 As you object to my writing before resting 
 I must do it now before lunch. I was very glad to 
 get your letter this morning. I had been dreaming 
 of you — as usual unsatisfactorily — namely that we 
 had gone to Egypt for a week only, and nonsense of 
 that kind. Dearest, I think there's a Jesuitical 
 and casuistical strain in you — I always notice it 
 when you begin to talk about fundamental truth, 
 and yet I should have thought it alien to the Scotch 
 nature. And the moral of my being uncomfortable 
 is not really that you shouldn't tell me, but that you 
 shouldn't get chills, and should take tonics. No I 
 don't think the normal condition of mankind need 
 be to feel fiat, and I wish it needn't be yours. I'm 
 quite sure you would find it cheering to write the 
 Princess's story, if you only had time to begin — I 
 have come to the conclusion that if you had anything 
 to do which was not even remotely connected with 
 your conscience or your duty, it would be good for 
 you. Only I suppose with such a perverted nature 
 as yours, the very fact that it wasn't distinctively 
 
 216
 
 ADDIKGTON 
 
 your duty would then get on your conscience. I 
 don't know what is to be done ! 
 
 I have been doing German with rising spirits — 
 (i) because they have so singularly little to say 
 for themselves, and that little is so controvertible — 
 (2) because I am past p. 401 and in the Acts next to 
 which comes the Johannine question in which I am 
 really interested. After that, I went down to the 
 farm and inspected the little rabbits. They are 
 perfectly sweet just now — square and solid and 
 fluffy. Shall I bring them when I come ? I am 
 also feeling better about Addington — I do like it 
 when it doesn't rain, but it generally does. The 
 ghosts are losing all distinctness, yet there's an 
 indefinite feeling of them which a little weighs in 
 the early morning and the evening. 
 
 I must write to Hugh also before lunch, and 
 force him to tell me exactly what his plans are — if 
 he doesn't I shall arrange without reference to him. 
 No I didn't suppose there was a possibility of your 
 coming — but I didn't want to let the merest chance 
 go without asking. Dearest, I must stop. I 
 haven't written a single other letter. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 M. B. 
 
 {To Miss Gourlay.) 
 
 Addington Park. 
 August 12, 1896. 
 
 Dearest, 
 
 This will be a most stupid letter, for it's after 
 lunch again, and there are a series of interruptions. 
 Ra distinguished himself by bringing in a pheasant 
 yesterday, and in consequence he has got to be 
 
 217
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 tethered. Beth is rather in a state of mind about 
 him, as she is deeply attached to him, and had such 
 a high opinion of his power of self-control with regard 
 to pheasants — and with mistaken confidence he 
 took it to her room. I have just been fitting his 
 collar on, and I have to go out to tether him in a 
 minute or two — so this will be incoherent. 
 
 I wonder whether you are writing that I can 
 (i^ome on Friday, or whether you think it's better to 
 put it off. I have not heard from Hugh at all. I 
 don't at all approve of your working as hard as you 
 can now in order to get clear time afterwards. I 
 think I would rather have a living friend, even 
 with a conscience than a dead one without — don't 
 do too much, dearest. I shall have to do lessons 
 sometimes you know — and then you can do some of 
 your things. 
 
 I have been to tether Ra in the intervals of this 
 letter, and the post has been called for once so I 
 must stop. I'm sorry it's so stupid, dearest. 
 
 Goodbye — it really is about time that we should 
 meet again — it seems to me several weeks since we 
 did. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 M. B. 
 
 {To Miss Gourlay.) 
 
 Addington Park. 
 Aug. 23 (1896). 
 
 My dearest, 
 
 I think there may be a chance of sending this 
 and so I am going to write anyhow, and if not I 
 shall keep it to go on with to-morrow. Did you 
 
 218
 
 ADDINGTON 
 
 get my letter this morning, I wonder ? It was a very 
 stupid one I know, for I had " no mind " as Mo- 
 hammed said — not that I have much to-day, I have 
 been too much battered by Hugh's arguments ever 
 since I got home. We had marriage of clergy, 
 position of women (on which I regret to say he said 
 that no statistics would convince him) — Confession 
 as usual, and Asceticism as usual. That lasted all 
 dinner-time, and directly afterwards we had the 
 pantomime until prayers. 
 
 To-day we have had milder subjects. I spent 
 the morning in bed, for as it was too wet to go to 
 Church I thought I would make the most of the 
 time, and had Beth and the cat for a short service 
 consisting of two lessons and some of Christina 
 Rossetti. Besides that I did some German and 
 some novel-reading, and some conversation with 
 you — but the conversation might have been of a 
 completer kind — and it would have been an improve- 
 ment too if I could have had the postman sitting on 
 my bed and showing me how to write. I have been 
 telling Beth about him and she is deeply impressed 
 with his intelligence. 
 
 Lucy is here and very cheerful. She has been 
 reading Fred's book, and though she hasn't got far, 
 yet she feels about it as I do — I'm very glad of that, 
 for it's so impossible with one's own family to know 
 how far one is prejudiced. She talked on last night 
 in my room chiefly on the subject of how odd she 
 thought Hugh was, and how dangerous she thought 
 his whole position ! I don't understand it a bit. 
 He is quite good with the people he has to deal with, 
 but otherwise his religion appears to be entirely 
 dissociated from anything to do with humanity. 
 
 219
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 His plans of future life seem to include no element 
 of relation to the people he will have to deal with. 
 
 Dearest, I have wondered sometimes whether 
 you think I talk to you about the private affairs of 
 other people more than I ought ? Do you ever 
 think that ? I wish you would tell me. I like to 
 tell you as much as I think I may — I wonder you 
 are not bored with it sometimes — but once or twice 
 it has struck me that you thought I ought not to tell 
 you so much. 
 
 I think I must stop. Good-bye, dearest. Mind 
 you say how you are when you write. 
 
 There's a chance of posting. I must stop. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 M. B. 
 
 {To Miss Gourlay.) 
 
 Addington Park. 
 August 28 (1S96). 
 
 Dearest, 
 
 I generally put off writing to you until I have 
 got through such letters as my conscience obliges 
 me to write. The advantage of it is that it makes 
 me hurry up about the other letters. 
 
 Dearest, I wish you would get all right. Why 
 can't you make up your mind to going for a walk ? 
 I don't want you to take a bit more exercise than 
 is good for you — or is it that you hate going by 
 yourself ? I don't like your feeling like this at all. 
 Are you well again or not ? Need you do so much 
 business — can't any of it be left until your sisters 
 come home — or would that be lax ? Oh dearest, I 
 wish we lived a little nearer one another during this 
 part of the year. Yet I suppose an impartial person 
 
 220
 
 ADDINGTON 
 
 would not see that there was much to grumble at in 
 the position — especially with Egypt ahead — nor 
 should I if you would be quite well and cheerful. 
 You mistake the use of backgrounds rather They 
 have got to be a source of consolation when the fore- 
 ground is filled up with things you don't like. So 
 the fact of having business to do ought not to crowd 
 it out. 
 
 Miss N has had a nervous breakdown. That 
 
 rather shakes my faith in her as the ideal representa- 
 tive of the old-maid principle, — I don't think with 
 only butter and scarabs on her mind she ought to 
 break down nervously. I hope your dress has got 
 on well— does it look nice ? I know you'll be beau- 
 tiful in it. 
 
 Oh dearest, I wish I knew the Gaelic language, 
 for I believe you are able to say all sorts of affection- 
 ate things in it which English can't express. I do 
 want you in bodily presence very badly, my dearest. 
 
 Yours, M. B. 
 
 {To Miss Gouflay.) 
 
 Addington Park. 
 August 29 (1896). 
 
 My dearest, 
 
 I think your writing to me at three different 
 periods during the day must have had a considerable 
 astral effect — not only during the day, but I couldn't 
 for a long time stop thinking of you and of Cecil at 
 night, and finally dreamt long dreams of you, which 
 were nicer than usual. Yesterday also I made a 
 plan that if this month becomes impossible, or if j^ou 
 get reall};^ depressed (and you know you are bound 
 by solemn oaths to tell me if you are), we must both 
 
 221
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 have business in London, then we can meet at Lam- 
 beth. I am sure I can invent business quite easily — 
 business that shan't take me too long, and you 
 must manage to invent it too. Dearest, I wish you 
 wouldn't load your conscience with such things as 
 the idea that you are lazy. It's just that sort of 
 thing I meant by the impossible standard. Besides 
 in that sort of way I don't think I am physically 
 less fit than you are — quite the reverse. The lack 
 of energy in you isn't a moral defect but a nervous 
 one. Do you for instance feel it in the same way 
 in Egypt when you are really well ? And the fact 
 of having it on your conscience that you are lazy 
 acts again on nerves. I am sure this is true. What 
 would you do with anybody else in the same circum- 
 stances ? You know you wouldn't tell them to 
 rouse themselves. You must be reasonable about 
 this. Then you see it is difficult in this way, that 
 if you have no time for a long time together in which 
 you can choose what you will do — because you 
 always have things that you must do — you get out 
 of the habit of choosing for yourself. That is 
 obscurely put — do you see what I mean ? In my 
 case, for instance, I can carry on from day to day, 
 with only accidental interruptions, the things I want 
 to do. 
 
 Dearest, there is another thing I want to write 
 about because I didn't talk about it at the time. 
 Have you given up altogether that theory that your 
 life is to be so arranged that you may find out how 
 little you can do with ? I see that may be so for 
 a time — but I don't see how that belief in a plan of 
 life-long starvation is consistent with a trust in the 
 fatherhood of God. I can see too that that may 
 
 222
 
 ADDINGTON 
 
 happen on one side — that one may be cut off from 
 certain kinds of things, in order that one may find 
 out the fulness of God in other ways — but with all 
 the infinity and fulness of God round one, that one 
 should be simply meant to learn abstinence as a 
 final lesson of life I can't believe. My dearest, I can't 
 fundamentally grudge any pain in life which has 
 made you what you are, but I must think that God 
 has a fulness and joy and inspiration of life for you 
 which he means you to gain. I must stop. Good- 
 bye. 
 
 My dearest, 
 
 Yours, M. B. 
 
 {To Miss Gourlay.) 
 
 Addington Park. 
 Aug. 30 (1896). 
 
 Dearest, 
 
 I have just been reading over the sonnets you 
 read me, and some others. I do like some very 
 much. I want you to read me them again. Hugh 
 went off yesterday. We went a drive and had a 
 long conversation about Cowley and other things. 
 I think his desire for Cowley is perhaps rather 
 cooling ; and his own brotherhood, with hide-and- 
 seek in cassocks, attracts him more. He was much 
 more human and less aggressive, and said that if 
 I would have a sisterhood in the same place he would 
 certainly allow the very very silliest and most 
 hysterical girls to come to the sisters to confess 
 instead of the clergy. I have found out my German 
 critic in a pure dishonesty this morning — there's no 
 excuse which can be brought for it, or any other 
 possible explanation. I have an idea for another 
 
 223
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 small chapter in the criticism chapter, but I'm not 
 sure whether it is too complicated to explain in a 
 letter. Roughly it is this : Compare the attitude 
 of the German critics to the Copernican system and 
 the Kantian Method, (the two last being a very well- 
 worn comparison) both of which take, so to speak, 
 a new centre for their theory of the same facts 
 known before ; and the proof of each is that the 
 theory so turned upside-down harmonises with the 
 facts better than before. Just so German critics 
 substituted the idea of literary dependence for that 
 of historical dependence, e.g. if two authors agree, 
 one had borrowed from the other ; if they apparently 
 disagree, one is arguing against the other — where the 
 earlier theory would say that they agreed because 
 the truth had been taught in this way by Christ to 
 His followers. Then comes the question as to whether 
 this really explained facts better, when I shall raise 
 the objection that this is untrue to human nature, 
 because the men who teach the highest truth cannot 
 be chiefly inspired by polemical feeling and literary 
 dishonesty. This is badly explained and probably 
 quite incomprehensibl}^ vague without instances. 
 
 Your condition about clothes sounds serious — 
 but you really mustn't try to make a compromise 
 between warmth and economy, because that is 
 certain to lead to chills and dyspepsia and depression 
 and all sorts of undesirable consequences. I wish 
 your conscience could be made more active on these 
 points instead of some others. My dearest I should 
 think it would be much nearer selfishness if you 
 weren't what 3'ou call egotistical at times. I think 
 you must be able to realise by now that I want to 
 know something about you — and you mustn't keep 
 
 224
 
 ADDINGTON 
 
 me away from you by your fear of being egotistical. 
 I wish I could come and sit in the wood with you 
 this afternoon. 
 
 Lucy and I are going to my father to represent 
 to him all the points we don't understand in some- 
 thing he has written. It makes me nervous to 
 criticise people's things. I must stop. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 M. B. 
 
 {To Miss Gourlay.) 
 
 Addington Park. 
 Sept. 14, 1896. 
 
 A discussion has been raging downstairs about 
 Deceased Wife's Sister — and such-like things. Lucy's 
 position is grand. 
 
 1. The laity needn't give way to the clergy, 
 because they constitute the Church as much as the 
 clergy do. 
 
 2. The Clergy must give way to the Laity, 
 because otherwise there will be a split. 
 
 The reason why the clergy must give wa}', and 
 not the Laity, is because the Laity have more 
 commonsense. I expect you would agree with her 
 thoroughly. 
 
 {To Miss Gourlay.) 
 
 Addington Park. 
 Sept. 16 (1896). 
 
 Nettie, 
 
 I protest against your conduct. You pro- 
 mised to come on Saturday unless people were 
 coming — now you say you have a feeling that you 
 
 225 Q
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 won't get away till Monday, because there are 
 things to fit into this week. Which I totally object 
 to (i) because it implies a fatalist view ; (2) because 
 having promised me to come here, you subsequently 
 made an arrangement to spend the whole day in 
 lunching at Andover ; (3) because this will only give 
 you Sunday to do these things in, which is not 
 allowable unless they are works of necessity, of 
 charity or of piety (and I'm certain they don't come 
 under the last head). What sort of a conscience it 
 is which relieves itself by Sabbath-breaking and 
 promise-breaking I can't conceive ! Moreover, I 
 seem to remember that you promised to find out 
 if you could see Sir John Williams on Saturday, and 
 I have heard no more about that. Have you done 
 anything about it ? What on earth is there to 
 prevent you making another luncheon engagement, 
 and not coming until Wednesday or later ? And 
 I know too the sort of condition you'll arrive in, if 
 you try to complete all the duties you can possibly 
 invent before you come. This is the part of you 
 that the name Janet corresponds to, which is prac- 
 tically equivalent to Martha. If, therefore, you 
 make up your mind to come on Monda37 with " no 
 kindness undone and no duty unfulfilled," I shall 
 search out and mark a few copies of the Christian 
 on Sabbath-breaking and Promise-breaking but 
 make no further allusion to the subject, which is a 
 painful one. 
 
 Margaret Benson. 
 
 P.S. — I dreamt last night that you considered me 
 a bore, and had done so for some time. I shall 
 consider that dream prophetic and retrospective. 
 226
 
 ADDINGTON 
 
 {To Miss Gourlay.) 
 
 Addington Park. 
 Sept. i8 (1896). 
 
 My dearest, how could I have intended that 
 idiotic letter to be taken altogether seriously. I 
 thought at one moment of putting a large J * on it, 
 but I didn't think it was necessary, and I am afraid 
 my letter yesterday will have made it sound still 
 more serious. The only element of seriousness that 
 there was in it was directed not against you, but 
 your conscience. I'm so sorry, and especially com- 
 punctious at having made you crowd more things 
 into these days, which wasn't at all my intention. 
 I wonder whether the letter I wrote to you yesterday 
 will have changed your mind at all. 
 
 Dearest, I won't go into it all because I think it 
 will be easier to explain when we meet, " It's 
 puzzling work, writing " — but I'm dreadfully sorry 
 to have worried yovi. Of course I shall love it if 
 you come to-morrow — but if you don't, I shall hope 
 it is that the second letter did partly destroy the 
 impression of the first. 
 
 Dearest, you don't think I should have written 
 quite like that if I had meant it altogether seriously. 
 
 Yours, M. B. 
 
 My dear D- 
 
 {To a friend.) 
 
 (1896.) 
 
 I hope and think you won't mind that C 
 
 has told me a little about how unhappy you have 
 
 * J=joke. 
 227
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 been of late. And I am so awfully sorry for you. 
 She told me, because you said to her that you would 
 
 have told me about it if I had come to L . 
 
 I wish I had — especially if it would have been any 
 use this way — and I wish we could meet now. Of 
 course there isn't anything one can say which is of 
 any good, onl}' the very talking about such troubles 
 is of use sometimes, because one sees more really 
 their proper proportions, and one does see that this 
 particular suffering is only part of a much bigger 
 thing ; whereas if one thinks of it alone, it seems to 
 swallow up the world. And then besides the fact 
 that certain kinds of suffering and loss are the 
 normal lot does make them better, — though not in 
 the crude way it's put sometimes. I mean it does 
 show one that one isn't chosen out for a peculiarlj^ 
 painful, or useless, or profitless part in life — but that 
 it is a part of what every one has to make life out 
 of — and also that the normal hopes and joys will 
 come, as well as the normal troubles. Oh dear, this 
 sounds hortatory almost, as well as deeply obscure — 
 don't mind it please — only think that it means I 
 am sorry, and if I could help I would. 
 Your affectionate, 
 
 Margaret Benson. 
 
 {To Miss Gourlay.) 
 
 Addington Park. 
 Oct. 3 (1896). 
 
 My Dearest, 
 
 I was so glad to get your letter this morning. 
 
 Dearest, I think the things we did have a much 
 
 more important place than the things we intended 
 
 to do ; and above all it does me good when you say 
 
 228
 
 ADDIInGTON 
 
 you have been happy. I don't know that I quite 
 understand your attitude to people — not as regards 
 my mother, but I mean as regards friends. I wish 
 you would write about it. I will write what I mean 
 to-morrow — to-day there's no time and I am very 
 stupid. It's something of this sort I mean, that I 
 don't want to have the part of my life that concerns 
 other people separate from you — that if it's not to 
 be separate, you must come into that with me, as 
 you do into things in which I am interested — so that 
 to love one another should reinforce both our powers 
 of loving other people. That was what I meant 
 
 about R . I felt that because I loved you I 
 
 couldn't be disloyal to her. Do you see ? 
 Goodbye dearest, 
 
 Yours, 
 
 M. B. 
 
 {To Miss Gourlay. 
 
 Addington Park. 
 Oct. 4 (1896). 
 
 My dearest, there may be a chance of sending 
 this to-day — and even if I can't, it can go by the 
 early post to-morrow. I had a brilliant inspiration 
 in dreams last night — on the subject of Biblical 
 Criticism, viz. — it is said that 2 Thessalonians is a 
 forgery because it's a sort of crescendo of i Thess. 
 
 Principle — a book which is written apparently in 
 imitation of another book, is the work of an imitator, 
 i.e. a forger. 
 
 Now my dream was that I was saying Xmas 
 Eve to you (which I don't know) and that it kept 
 running off into Easter Day. Then it occurred to 
 me that there is a great similarity between the two 
 
 229
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 poems, so great that German critics, if they were 
 examining authorship, would certainly prove that 
 one was founded upon the other, and therefore was 
 a forgery — I determined to apply this to i and 2 
 Thess. — and so woke. The subject is beginning to 
 permeate my dreams now, for I woke another 
 morning remembering that S. Paul had claimed the 
 gift of tongues for himself, and thinking it differed 
 immensely from the German critics' view of him. 
 Certainly if he could (and did) speak with tongues, 
 this differed more in style from the close argument 
 of Romans, for instance, than Ephesians or even 
 Tim. and Titus do. I haven't done any more 
 because I had to write 14 letters yesterday. Then 
 an old pupil of mine — a schoolmistress now — came 
 to tea and stayed nearly till 7. Why did you repel 
 with scorn and contempt my proposal to read the 
 other Epistles ? It is very interesting to read them 
 straight through, one gets a much better idea of 
 drift — and I must do it sometime — but I'll do it 
 by myself if you dislike the idea so much. [J] 
 
 Dearest I want to know what you think about 
 the subject. Ideally, mustn't one want to care as 
 much as possible for as many people as possible ? 
 Of course I know there are practical limits. Time 
 and thought are limited — but shouldn't one try to 
 make these as little of a hindrance as one can. I 
 want to know what you think more — but I won't 
 continue this by letter, if you are likely to worry 
 yourself about it. We will leave it till we meet 
 again, if so. But I think it is partly connected with 
 your attitude to people at large, and that perhaps 
 . I don't quite understand. How are you, dearest ? 
 Do you know how much I have been talking to 
 
 230
 
 ADDINGTON 
 
 you since we parted ? I am afraid I'm not very 
 
 lively for A , and it's so silly to be irritated by 
 
 little things in her. It is a sort of moral starch that 
 she wants — not exactly Margaret's bracing system, 
 but something analogous though less drastic. I must 
 stop. 
 
 Goodbye dearest. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 M. B. 
 
 {To Miss Gourlay.) 
 
 Addington Park. 
 October 6 (1S96). 
 
 Dearest, 
 
 This is rather hard luck isn't it ? It's raining 
 steadily, with a perfectly grey sky. The girls have 
 had 2 1 hours' drive in pouring rain, and will have the 
 same back again. We have just finished lunch — it 
 is one o'clock — and we can't have tea before 4.30. 
 I hoped they might have a proper British contempt 
 for rain, but they haven't at all, and decline to go 
 out. Lucy has sent me off to rest for an hour, for 
 which I am deeply thankful, as after that we shall 
 have 2| solid hours of dumb crambo or musical 
 chairs, 
 
 I began to write on S. Paul's Epistles yesterday, 
 and was seized with a fever for writing, but there's 
 not much opportunity for indulging it to-day. I 
 may count writing to you resting, but I can't count 
 writing on German criticism. Dearest, if letters 
 aren't everything they are very much. I always 
 wake in the morning with the expectation of your 
 letter. I read a little of Caird's Evolution of Religion 
 with Constance. He seems to me to mistake the 
 
 231
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 whole point of S. Paul's teaching. I think Caird has 
 gone mad on self-realisation through self-abnegation, 
 for he makes it the sole point of Hegel too. Of 
 course it's true in a way of both of them, but that 
 point of view is a Greenian, an Oxford point of view. 
 Goodbye. My dearest. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 M. B. 
 I'm quite well. 
 
 {To Miss Gourlay.) 
 
 Wolverhampton. 
 October 8 (1896). 
 
 Dearest, 
 
 It was good to see you even for that short 
 time — though I was choked with things to say. The 
 worst of it is that under those circumstances one 
 always talks business, as it is the easiest thing to 
 get out. 
 
 My bag seems to be chiefly packed with your 
 books and letters. I have been reading the Natural 
 History of the Christian Religion, and I have got the 
 sonnets too. I realised yesterday that besides the 
 principle of " persistence of theme " I have to do 
 " unity of thought and doctrine " — which is a vast 
 subject. It's odd that the people who most believe 
 in the development of Christ's own consciousness, 
 allow least possibility for the development of S. 
 Paul's doctrine. What I meant about self-abnega- 
 tion was not that it wasn't true, but that it wasn't 
 S. Paul — his point is rather renunciation of self- 
 dependence, than self-abnegation, and he never rests 
 on sg//-realisation, he is much more objective than 
 that — it would be rather the realisation of Christ's 
 
 232
 
 ADDINGTON 
 
 life, " I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me." I 
 don't mean that that isn't self-realisation in a sense, 
 but that it isn't self at all that is dwelt on — and that 
 Caird, having seized this point, tries to force S. Paul 
 and Hegel and every one else into his own mould. 
 
 No, I don't like your attitude about other people — 
 even as you explain it — it is so isolated — I think you 
 are wrong in saying " people don't want to be 
 bothered with one " — I don't think most people are 
 isolated — and if they are they oughtn't to be. 
 However, it is a largish subject. Goodbye dearest. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 M. B. 
 
 233
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 WINCHESTER 
 
 My father went off in September, 1896, with my 
 mother, for a tour in Ireland. He was in good 
 spirits, his speeches, of which he had to make many, 
 were in his best vein, and his talk at the various 
 houses where he was entertained was unusually 
 vivid and lively. But the strain of work had been 
 great, and the heart, whose condition had long 
 caused anxiety, suddenly failed. He died on 
 October 11, in Church at Hawarden, where he had 
 gone to stay with Mr. Gladstone on his return 
 journey. 
 
 We all joined my mother there, and the funeral 
 followed at Canterbury. We returned to Addington, 
 and then went to Lambeth to put things in order. 
 
 It is somewhat difficult to define the relation 
 between my father and Maggie. He loved her very 
 tenderly, and fully recognised the force and beauty 
 of her mind and character. He encouraged her in 
 all her plans and designs, and entered with enthu- 
 siasm into her work, her excavations and her sketch- 
 ing. She regarded my father with great devotion 
 and reverence, but never quite overcame her awe 
 of him. Maggie was extraordinarily sensitive to the 
 smallest shades of manner, and the presence of 
 
 234
 
 WINCHESTER 
 
 anything like displeasure r depression agitated and 
 affected her deeply. Her long absences from home 
 and her frequent ill-health prevented her from being 
 my father's close companion ; moreover, her natural 
 reserve and her lack of expc • sive geniality, except 
 with companions with whom she felt entirely and 
 wholly at ease, prevented iier from talking to him 
 with the kind of gay and merry confidence which 
 Nellie had given him. The result was that though 
 my father loved Maggie's quiet and thoughtful talk, 
 there was never quite a sense of simple camaraderie 
 between them. She was too anxious lest the talk 
 should take any turn which she dreaded, too sensitive 
 to his varying moods, too eager to be exactly what 
 she thought he would like her to be, and thus did 
 not respond either as spontaneously as she could 
 have wished to do to his swift and eager visions, or 
 as tranquilly as it was advisable to do to his over- 
 emphatic concern. In several ways she resembled 
 him closely. She had his practical grasp of organisa- 
 tion, and something of his sternness of view about 
 life and its issues. But she was slow to express 
 herself, humorous rather than lively, while she was 
 fully as sensitive as himself to the demeanour 
 and manner of others. Like him, she emphasised and 
 exaggerated the significance of small things ; and 
 thus both by her very likeness to him, and also by 
 the great delicacy of her nervous organisation, which 
 gave her an immediate and distressing sense of dis- 
 comfort in the presence of anything agitating or 
 painful, it was inevitable that their companionship 
 should be fruitful in obstacles to complete under- 
 standing. She was so deeply dutiful that she was 
 inclined to read into his mind her own sense of her 
 
 235
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 inadequacy to play her household part ; and thus 
 though they each had a sincere respect and true 
 affection for the other, neither could attain to the 
 serene confidence which both equally desired. 
 
 It was soon after his death that she wrote thus 
 to Miss Gourlay — 
 
 Addington Park, 
 Croydon. 
 Nov. 8 (1896). 
 
 My mother has been reading us some poems of 
 my father's. Sometime I should like you to see 
 them — one of them written to her when she was 
 only II, another just before they were married, 
 about the seven years he had loved her — and she 
 was only just 18 when they married. It's strange, 
 dearest, the way in which death can really open to 
 one new knowledge of people — one couldn't have 
 realised that side of him before, and one can begin 
 to now — I mean it is just one of the ways in which 
 one can see the truth of " it is expedient for you that 
 I go away." Do you see what I mean, that the 
 actual present relation to him as one's father would 
 necessarily overpower all else that one had not 
 actually known ? 
 
 Just so the knowing Christ after the flesh, must 
 while it lasted have in a sense made the eternal 
 relation to him more difficult to grasp. I am not 
 sure that this wouldn't partly explain the fact that 
 that eternal relation comes out so much more clearly 
 in the latest-written Gospels — that a different pro- 
 portion has come out in words and acts. 
 
 236
 
 WINCHESTER 
 
 The sudden suspension and winding up of two 
 big establishments hke Lambeth and Addington is 
 in itself at any time a most intricate and laborious 
 process. But Maggie had to go abroad for the 
 winter, while Hugh's health broke down, and my 
 mother was advised to go out to Egypt with them. 
 I was at Eton and had to go back to my boarding- 
 house. It was all done somehow, but chiefly through 
 the kindness of Archbishop Temple, who assented 
 to everything suggested, and conducted large business 
 transactions in the most generous spirit and in the 
 briefest of notes. The expedition to Egypt was very, 
 disastrous. Maggie had an attack of pleurisy fol- 
 lowed by a heart-attack, and her recovery was 
 thought impossible, her death being for an hour 
 momentarily expected. She described to me after- 
 wards her sensations — it was as though she were 
 sinking away from and through everything material 
 into some unsubstantial void. She did not wish to 
 die, but had no fear, and lay praying aloud that she 
 might not have to leave her mother just then, and 
 life slowly came back to her. It was soon after that 
 my brother went on ahead to make arrangements 
 for them at Helouan ; when they followed, all they 
 could find was that he had been taken off the boat 
 on an ambulance, and when he was discovered, he 
 was in bed at Helouan with typhoid. When he was 
 convalescent. Miss Tait fell a victim to the same 
 complaint, and was dangerously ill. They even- 
 tually had to stay on till June, in fierce heat, in a 
 hotel kept open for them at much expense after all 
 visitors had departed. 
 
 Eventually they got back to England and went 
 to Farnham Castle, to stay with the Davidsons. 
 
 237
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 There the beloved Beth rejoined them, but had a 
 long and serious illness. Meanwhile a house had 
 been taken at Winchester, in St. Thomas' Street. 
 It was a stately old Georgian mansion with big quiet 
 rooms, a shady garden with a fine old mulberry tree, 
 the whole backed by the ancient wall of the Close, 
 with the Cathedral looking over ; and they had 
 many friends at Winchester. But it was a melan- 
 choly time. The busy and active life had vanished 
 into air. For years before that, there had never 
 been any question about what to do ; every week 
 and every day had been filled with duties, and there 
 had been a constant stream of visitors, with all the 
 touch of brisk and living affairs. Such quiet hours 
 as could be secured had formed a refreshing back- 
 ground to all the stir and concourse. It is very 
 difficult to reorganise life in a moment on leisurely 
 lines, and with the feeling that nothing you do is of 
 any account. Moreover my father's ardent and 
 emphatic personality had been the centre of the 
 whole life of the household. He was not a man who 
 withdrew himself from family life to his own business, 
 nor had he used domestic intercourse only for 
 refreshment and repose. He carried his visions and 
 schemes and interests and anxieties everywhere with 
 him, and had discussed them freely, claiming sym- 
 pathy and assistance ; so that here again there came 
 silence and inaction. 
 
 Maggie felt all this very severely. It was partly 
 the loss of normal activities, but it was also the 
 sense, which was at this time emphasised and 
 developed, that she herself was responsible for the 
 life of the household reviving on a different plan. 
 Her letters to friends indicate a deep dejection of 
 
 238
 
 WINCHESTER 
 
 spirit — " I meditate futile plans of escape," she 
 wrote, " it seems impossible to take up life again." 
 
 In reply to a letter urging her to pay a visit, she 
 wrote, " I want to hide my stupid head in my own 
 burrow ; I feel a dead weight on everyone's spirits, 
 and more of an anxiety than anything else — indeed, 
 I feel a grief to myself and to everyone connected 
 with me." 
 
 But gradually her interests revived, and she 
 became aware that she had demanded too much 
 both of herself and her circle. She wrote to a friend, 
 " I was thinking about you, and your photograph 
 talked so loud that it disturbed me. ... I have got 
 a little too much into the way of regarding every- 
 thing as a highly critical opportunity lately." 
 
 We did what we could, but we all suffered from 
 the shock and the strain. I began in leisure hours 
 to work through my father's papers and corre- 
 spondence, and started upon the biography, and 
 here Maggie was of the utmost assistance to me with 
 her strong sense of proportion and her firm grasp 
 of detail. The book began to grow. But her health 
 gave rise to considerable anxiety ; she did not revive, 
 and suffered much from exhaustion and listlessness. 
 
 {To Mrs. Shuttleworth.) 
 
 Haslemere. 
 July 17 (1897). 
 
 Have you by the way ever read Ibsen's Peer 
 Gynt ? Among the dramatis personae he includes 
 " a person in green," Memnon's statue singing, the 
 Sphinx, " a button- moulder," " a lean person " 
 
 239
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 and several madmen and keepers — that last was like 
 us, only there weren't any keepers ; the scenes are 
 laid in Norway, in the Sahara, in a mad-house in 
 Cairo, off the coast of Morocco and other places ! 
 
 We are beginning to settle at last. Lucy Tait 
 has taken a little tiny house in London near the 
 Abbey, which we are all to use in turn — and I think 
 we may take a very charming house near here. 
 It's compounded of two old houses, a Quaker's 
 Meeting-house, a small farmstead, partly turned 
 into school-house, and a gymnasium. This sounds 
 like Peer Gynt again ! 
 
 I wish very much I could have come down to 
 Truro, and I should like immensely to have come to 
 you — but it wasn't possible then. I haven't been 
 very well, and have come here for bracing, and as 
 you see we have been rather under the yoke of 
 distraction, etc. But do let me come some other 
 time. I should like it so much. I hope to come 
 down again to Cornwall next winter. Couldn't 
 we meet then if not before ? Your problem is 
 a difficult one : it's awfully hard to go on by one- 
 self in any distinct line without some definite point 
 to work to. What kind of thing do you feel most 
 drawn to ? Two things that I have been considering 
 lately — they sound rather discrepant — are village 
 industries, and an analysis of fairy tales more or 
 less on the Andrew Lang lines. 
 
 The first would be in the direction of poultry 
 and rabbit feeding, and rabbit's wool on the French 
 lines, and the supply of town markets. I heard of 
 some clergyman's daughters who organised it most 
 successful!}^ — early vegetables too in Cornwall — and 
 the other isn't by any means so frivolous as it sounds. 
 
 240
 
 WINCHESTER 
 
 One finds some of the most familiar features of 
 German fairy tales in Early Egyptian stories, for 
 instance — one vvotild have to see what Andrew Lang 
 has done, look up folk-lore books like " The Golden 
 Bough/' and get hold of fairy stories, Norse, German, 
 Egyptian, Japanese, etc., as well as many Cornish 
 popular stories as one could. It's a very large 
 subject, and really a very serious as well as a very 
 amusing one. The point would be to analyse the 
 main features of stories, e.g., the fate-idea, and trace 
 back probably to early religious theories. Of course 
 there are no end of things you might care to study, 
 but study without some definite object is difficult. 
 Do you care about the study of any form of socialism ? 
 
 [To hey brother Arthur.) 
 
 Kempshott Park, 
 Basingstoke. 
 Oct. 24, 1897. 
 
 Dearest Arthur, 
 
 I am so very sorry you are having such a 
 trying time with work, and worries about the book. 
 It must be most annoying not to be able to get at all 
 your material as you want it. Of course people 
 who aren't used to writing and yet have got some- 
 thing to say, don't realise a bit the difficulties in 
 which it involves you to have to wait. But can 
 the book be pushed forward quite so quickly as you 
 suggest ? It is much quicker of course than most 
 biographies. I know there are various notes of 
 incidents, etc., which Mama wants to make, and 
 which she has really not had time to get. 
 
 When the Bishop has had it, could it not wait for 
 241 R
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 a bit — as you have got it all into shape — to give 
 time for dilatory notes to come in ? You might 
 also then have a better opportunity for finishing — 
 less press of work. I don't mean that it could lie 
 by for any length of time — but for a few weeks 
 perhaps. Would this be possible ? You have, 
 as it is, got on so much faster than any of us conceived 
 possible. 
 
 I am so very glad you liked Nettie so much. 
 She is one of the most unselfish people I know, and 
 you can imagine what a tremendous boon her friend- 
 ship has been all through this time — apart even 
 from one's personal feeling for her. 
 
 I will really try to send the Wellington College 
 book as soon as I get back. 
 
 Your loving sister, 
 
 Margaret Benson. 
 
 {To Miss Gourlay, illness of a little nephew, Cecil.) 
 
 0, St. Thomas Street, 
 Winchester. 
 
 Dec. 25 (1897). 
 
 My dearest, we were very much distressed by 
 your letter of yesterday, but after this morning's 
 I am hoping it is true that Annie's report has been 
 exaggerated. I have prayed and go on praying, 
 my dearest, that whatever may come, he may not 
 suffer, and yet God knows so much better than we 
 how little and tender he is, and also what he can 
 and should bear. And, dearest, even if in spite of 
 our prayers, suffering of some degree should come, 
 do try to remember how thankful one can be for 
 suffering — though it would be so far worse for you 
 to see it than to suffer it. Yet it may be part of the 
 
 242
 
 WINCHESTER 
 
 birthright even of that little sweet soul. Remember 
 too, dearest, that what is terrible to watch passes 
 sometimes like only a bad dream over the person 
 who is suffering. 
 
 But, dearest, I trust and pray that there may not 
 in any case be this to bear. I hope from your letter 
 too that it's not like that, as you say that you think 
 he will be able to some extent to enjoy his presents. 
 
 The service in cathedral was very nice this 
 morning, and this afternoon Mother, Lucy, Canon 
 Mason and I, walked to the Cloisters, which were 
 looking so beautiful and so peaceful. You remember 
 I couldn't translate that verse* — but it was translated 
 to me, and it is this — 
 
 " Oh Love, oh Shepherd, who didst dip in life- 
 giving death the lamb that Thou hast gathered to 
 Thyself and dost cherish it in Thy bosom, lead us, 
 who through Thee remember so many happy years, 
 to where it is given to enjoy a love no longer blind." 
 That is as nearly as I can remember it. My father 
 wrote it. 
 
 Good-bye, my darling — you'll feel me near you. 
 
 {To Miss Gourlay.) 
 
 g, St. Thomas Street, 
 Winchester. 
 
 Dec. 31st, 1897. 
 
 My darling, what a relief to have been up, and 
 to know all about it, and what a wonderful recupera- 
 tive power he seems to have. Oh, dearest, I am 
 glad it is so much better. Dearest, do let yourself 
 be glad in it now, without trying to bear all the 
 
 * The epitaph near my brother Martin's grave, in the College 
 cloisters. 
 
 243
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 burden of the future years. If " take no thought 
 for the morrow " means anything, it means this : 
 now that there is nothing that you can do. 
 
 And dearest, for of course you must think about 
 it, — do remember how much of dehght and interest 
 can come out of a partly invalid life, and what a 
 great character may grow out of limitations. I 
 don't mean for an instant to say that it's not a 
 limitation ; and that it isn't a great trouble, but 
 take heart about it, dearest. If he lives, as please 
 God he will, there will be so much for you to do in 
 leading his interests in ways which will be good for 
 him all round, and where his capacities and energies 
 can have play. Of course a boy's impulses are 
 in the line of great activities, but a delicate child 
 doesn't feel this so much, and the dreariness that one 
 seemed so often to see in the case of young men 
 who were ill in Egypt seemed to come so much from 
 the fact that they had few interests apart from this, 
 and had been brought up from the beginning in 
 different ways. But with Cecil it is so different ; 
 in spite of resolute resistance to learning, he has 
 plenty of brains and much imagination, and one 
 would think decided musical tendencies — and with 
 that, with delight in natural history such as all 
 children have, which would take him into the air 
 in possible ways, there is so infinitely much to care 
 for. Think of a life like Stevenson's, dearest ; 
 with all trials and depressions, it was so much more 
 of a life — apart from writing I mean, — so much more 
 vividly lived than most strong men's. Oh, dearest, 
 there is a great deal for you to do, — very difficult, 
 but such hope in doing it, — and meanwhile, darling, 
 take all the comfort of his being better. I know 
 
 244
 
 WINCHESTER 
 
 the anxiety and uncertainty are hard to bear, — ^but 
 you have only got to-day's anxiety to bear to-day — 
 not to-morrow's. 
 
 {To S. A. McDowall.) 
 
 Falmouth. 
 March 7, 1898. 
 
 I have come to the conclusion that one of the 
 few {very few remember) things that men can do 
 better than women is to clean coins. In our hands 
 they turn all sorts of strange colours, and if we leave 
 them in the box for a week they accumulate masses 
 of fresh rust. 
 
 Is it possible that you could clean them for me, 
 and take them to the British Museum } 
 
 I have divided the coins into two parts — those 
 which appear to be absolutely destitute of any 
 marks of identification whatever, and those which 
 are not. 
 
 The first class — if they are what they seem, — it 
 would seem unnecessary to present for the inspection 
 of a specialist ! So I have put them in a separate 
 box, but if any of them are any good, perhaps you 
 would put them with the others. 
 
 Then about the others. I don't wish to appear 
 idiotic, and, so to speak, to ask Mr. Head's opinion 
 on the value of a copper halfpenny — but if there 
 is any doubt at alt, we should wish to ask. What do 
 you think — could you exercise a certain amount 
 of discretion on this, in a preliminary investigation ? 
 
 245
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 [To S. A. McDowall.) 
 
 Pendennis Hotel, 
 Falmouth. 
 Jan. 21, 1899. 
 
 I have brought Phantasies here to re-read. It 
 is really charming, isn't it ? I wish you would 
 sometime write me more of your views on it. The 
 lady of the marble, and the alder maiden bear a 
 kind of correspondence to Una and Duessa, don't 
 they ? Then he comes to disillusionment, cynicism 
 — the shadow — by persisting in looking into the 
 dark side of life, — which seems to be concerned with 
 only the common things of life, — looking like a 
 cupboard, and having ordinary utensils in it, but 
 opening out, though dark and narrow, right through 
 the length of the world up to the sky. 
 
 But the other man, the knight, who has come to 
 the same crash in life— has mistaken the apparent 
 beauty of what is evil, for the beauty of holiness, 
 avoids cynicism and therefore disillusionment by 
 giving himself up to great deeds. Does this go 
 along with your theories ? 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Pendennis. 
 22 Feb., 1899. 
 
 My Dearest Mother, 
 
 I want you to see Arthur's enclosed letters. 
 I have answered. 
 
 (i) Apologising, (2) Offering to cut do^^^l — but 
 (3) Urging very strongly that he should make it 
 
 246
 
 WINCHESTER 
 
 longer. I have told him I believe in it tremendously. 
 I have quoted what Adeline said. 
 
 But as you see it's an awfully critical moment. 
 I believe it can be made a most interesting and 
 beautiful book (Nettie says suddenly in a loud 
 angry voice — she knows I am writing — " Say ' Who's 
 Macmillan ? how can he judge 7 ' ") but you see 
 re-arrangement isn't possible, if you are packed into 
 a box where you can't move. Without some elas- 
 ticity there's no possibility of re-arrangement. Be- 
 sides, things must be added to if they are incomplete. 
 So that if he doesn't give more space, there really 
 isn't much I can do. Moulding isn't possible if 
 you can only pinch in and not fill out. Now is 
 there anything any one can do ? I'm horribly sorry 
 so to worry him, and he isn't cross, only desperate — 
 I'm dreadfully touched. But if without urging 
 anything, anyone could give any encouragement 
 as to the way it is going which would make it feel 
 worth while to him to squeeze Macmillan instead of 
 the book, it might be a help. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Polurrian, 
 March ii, 1899. 
 
 Oh such a gorgeous day of storm and afterstorm 
 here. The sea brilliant, the distant cliffs trans- 
 parent — the sea breaking on rocks under the surface, 
 and splashing up the cliffs — sea-gulls dotted all over 
 and sitting out all the waves they could, and getting 
 up when they absolutely had to, like a cloud of 
 pigeons, and resettling. After watching them some 
 time we came to the conclusion that they were 
 really partly playing ! Some wallflowers among 
 
 247
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 them stood in rows watching from above. Then 
 inland, gorse ghttering, pools of rain-water, raw 
 umber in colour, and gulls and crows following the 
 plough — just close behind it. Oh ! 
 
 There were two child-cousins to whom she was 
 greatl}' devoted, Kitty and Stewart McDowall, the 
 children of my aunt Ada Benson, who died in their 
 infancy. They were much with us at Addington, 
 at first in the care of my sister Nellie. After her 
 death, my uncle, Mr. McDowall, entrusted Maggie 
 with an informal sort of guardianship. She made 
 a close friendship with them and won their entire 
 confidence, talking to them, amusing them, advising 
 them, and constantly writing to them. This friend- 
 ship continued all through Stewart McDo wall's 
 school and undergraduate da3^s, and was a tender 
 and unbroken regard. When he became interested 
 in philosophical matters and eventually determined 
 to be ordained, she went into all his difficulties 
 and perplexities and dissipated them by her clear 
 and luminous explanations, endlessly careful and 
 patient. When he married she took his wife into her 
 affection. 
 
 Mr. Stewart McDowall writes — 
 
 " In spite of Maggie's extraordinarily vivid per- 
 sonality, it is hard to remember the exact details 
 of what she said. I think this is due to her appreci- 
 ativeness and her power of seeing things from j^our 
 own point of view, so that you remember her influ- 
 ence on yon rather than her own words. 
 
 Her range of interests was very wide : I 
 personally have letters from her on excavation, 
 
 248
 
 WINCHESTER 
 
 photography, carpentering, cleaning coins, philo- 
 sophy, science, theology, animals, family affairs, 
 old country houses, a queer snake, Milton, stocking 
 fish-ponds, breeding varieties of the currant moth, 
 descriptions of scenery, character-sketches of com- 
 mon acquaintances, the meaning of George Mac- 
 donald's allegories, and book-illustration. 
 
 Her eagerness in discussion was very great. 
 Arguments were continued eagerly on the stairs or 
 anywhere — with hearty laughter often, and great 
 appreciation of the humorous . side. Discussions 
 were picked up days or weeks after, exactly where 
 they were left. 
 
 She was always willing to hear and weigh every- 
 thing you had to say, however crude. She loved 
 discussing over the ' chain-room ' fire at Tremans 
 by the light of the smouldering logs. I remember 
 one occasion when the fire was smoking so that tears 
 ran down our cheeks, yet this made no difterence, 
 and it was one of the most suggestive discussions we 
 had. She spoke slowly with long pauses, when 
 anything serious was on the tapis — and was always 
 ready to see and admit your difficulties. ' I know 
 ... I know,' and then followed a clear and sym- 
 pathetic presentment of the case as a whole. 
 
 She could be very direct and caustic — never 
 sentimental, always tonic. I remember as a remark- 
 ably sentimental boy talking about * Six Common 
 Things,' and saying that I didn't care for ' Poor Miss 
 Huntingford ' and ' The Defeat of Lady Grantham ' 
 as I cared for the other stories. I wanted to expand 
 my thesis and wallow in sentimentality. All she 
 said was ' No, I don't suppose you would.' I shut 
 up, and felt she was brutal and unperceptive. But 
 
 249
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 it was true — that was the worst of it — and just what 
 I needed, as I realised later; though it stung for years. 
 
 I remember her clear-sighted, humorous, and 
 epigrammatic summaries of acquaintances. She 
 was a quick, and generally, though not always, a very 
 sure judge of people, and not naturally expansive. 
 Some people were rather afraid of her. I think 
 she was even more appreciative on the intellectual 
 than on the personal side. She didn't suffer fools 
 very gladly always, though personall}^ I never felt 
 a touch of intolerance or impatience. She was 
 always extraordinarily bracing, especially in times 
 of illness or anxiety. 
 
 On the whole, I should say that her personality 
 rather than her words impressed one. She always 
 said * the just word ' with infinite commonsense. 
 She was often epigrammatic, but one remembered 
 less the brilliance of the phrase than the fact that it 
 pointed the argument or summed the situation 
 exactly. Then again, she was so allusive — she 
 remembered the letter or conversation of perhaps 
 months ago, and went on from the same point 
 without any hesitation — the result being that many 
 of her letters lose all meaning to anyone who doesn't 
 know the whole circumstances ; and of conversations 
 one only remembers the general drift, because one 
 conversation might last for months. Her memory 
 was marvellous, and never seemed to fail her, even 
 in the smallest details." 
 
 It was so, too, with Kitty McDowall, now Mrs. 
 Arundell Esdaile. Her devotion to Maggie was 
 very great, and Maggie lavished on her a deep care 
 and tenderness, entering into her problems and 
 
 250
 
 WINCHESTER 
 
 interests and watching like a mother over this 
 motherless child. 
 
 Mrs. Esdaile writes — 
 
 " My childish knowledge of my cousin Maggie was 
 really based on our annual visits, weeks and months 
 long, to Addington ; it was she who gave me my first 
 riding lesson when I was sent on ' Ajacks ' * to the 
 Vicarage, as a letter written the same day records ; 
 it was she who, with her sister, taught us to make 
 ' burnt sugar ' by holding a lump of sugar in a 
 candle-flame until transparent amber drops fell on 
 to the plate below ; to draw from memory the Home 
 Farm with Watch, the collie, in the foreground, 
 lying beside an unperspectived kennel, to make 
 loaves and tarts out of breadcrumbs, well thumbed 
 and coloured to taste, to melt the broken stands of 
 soldiers on a shovel in the fire — a practice forbidden, 
 unless somebody at least as old as Hugh were present 
 — to toboggan and skate, and above all, to act. 
 The making of the accessories in pasteboard and 
 silver-paper, the garments evolved out of burnous 
 and scarf, the fun of rehearsals, the supreme night 
 when one sat up to supper and was allowed to keep 
 on one's clothes — words cannot describe the rapture 
 of these things, especially after we had exchanged 
 our Surrey home for a dreary house in a London 
 street, with no choice of walks, and no variety of 
 scene. 
 
 Our pets — small china animals devoid of ears, 
 paws, tails and even heads — were a never-ending 
 source of interest to Maggie, not, as we fondly 
 
 * The cob, Ajax, which my sister rode. 
 251
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 believed, because she loved them, but because, as 
 she long after told me, they offered a curious con- 
 temporary illustration of the Egyptian doctrine of 
 the substituted body. If Fido or Rover perished, 
 as one did by falling overboard in a deep rock-pool 
 and the other by ' dropping down a drain,' as 
 sadly reported b^^ me, his bereft owner, the stone 
 nearest in size and shape to the lost one was promptly 
 adopted, fed, dressed and bathed, until the shop was 
 again accessible from which an actual substitute 
 could be procured. 
 
 She wrote to us about the Pets, she kissed their 
 mutilated bodies — the largest was a headless trunk 
 not two inches long — she sent us stamps when we 
 grew to the age of stamp-collecting, she gave me 
 advice as to dressing when I first had my allowance, 
 and laughed her ringing laugh when I expressed my 
 hope that I should be able to dress like her, I being 
 perhaps five foot four at the time and she nearly 
 seven inches taller, with the stately carriage that 
 impressed the imagination even of a stranger. But 
 I am advancing matters. 
 
 As the dreariness of London grew upon me, 
 Maggie herself became more important, until at 
 thirteen or fourteen I had come to find in our now 
 rare visits to Addington, which the claims of school 
 had limited to a few days instead of blessed weeks 
 and months, the one person who could supply what 
 my heart ached for, the love and tenderness of a 
 mother. 
 
 A letter from her was a treasure too precious to 
 share, to be taken to bed night after night. I 
 sought her direction in reading and religious matters ; 
 during her illness in Egypt I prayed to be allowed to 
 
 252
 
 WINCHESTER 
 
 see her again ; I thought of her night and day. She 
 became my religion ; it was for her that I worked 
 and thought, it was for her that I wrote and read 
 poems and prose. And how wholesome her sym- 
 pathy was, and her laughter ! Much more steadying 
 was her eagerness to see me wTite, and on two poems 
 written when I was eleven years old and full of a 
 passionate devotion to the Stuarts which was 
 fostered by the Addington pictures, she wrote me 
 several pages of detailed and valuable criticism. 
 So, too, with my first and only novel. The Hunted 
 Prince, written at the age of thirteen round the 
 figure of James, Duke of York, and his supposed 
 adventures in Jersey. One of her criticisms remains 
 with me : ' Don't write of Vandyke's lovely por- 
 traits, Kitty dear ; the person who knows Vandyke 
 knows they are lovely, and the person who does not 
 is no wiser.' Not once but fifty times since have I 
 recalled that warning, and expunged an offending 
 adjective. 
 
 When I was nearly seventeen I went to Truro 
 for a fortnight, and she and my Aunt were there. 
 We had not met for nearly two years, not for so long 
 since my tenth year, and no words can express my 
 passionate joy in being with her, or, I fear, the 
 intolerable nuisance I must have been to other 
 people. It was directly after this visit that I com- 
 piled a ' Maggie Book,' embodying what I cared to 
 recall of my intercourse with her since I was thirteen, 
 and of course omitting as wholly unimportant any- 
 thing that was not emotional or highly wrought. 
 
 As I grew up she was intensely interested in my 
 prospects of Oxford life and her visit to me at Lady 
 Margaret was a pride and joy. But as my life, 
 
 253
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 once so empty, except for what centred in her, 
 broadened and widened, the intensity of my adora- 
 tion for her softened to a gentler and more normal 
 feeling. But she had been throughout my girl- 
 hood, the only one to whom I could confide every- 
 thing in the certainty of love and sympathy, the 
 object of my passionate devotion, the standard by 
 which I tried in vain to live." 
 
 {To Miss K. McDowall.) 
 
 Lambeth Palace. 
 June 28th, 1896. 
 
 Now as to your Confirmation itself, my dear, and 
 all that it implies, I want to say a word ; yet it is 
 all so great that in saying any one thing one thinks 
 oi the hundreds one must leave unsaid. I think 
 one of the things said to me that struck me most 
 vividly about my own, was what Canon Mason said. 
 Do you know him ? I met him coming back from 
 Church, and all he did was to shake hands with me 
 and say, " I congratulate you." I don't think I had 
 thought of it in that way before. I mean of the 
 enormous privilege it is on the one hand to be allowed 
 publicly to range ourselves, so to speak, on God's 
 side in the world, — to be allowed to declare for Him 
 — and then too, on the other hand, you reach in a 
 sense the distinctive point of Christianity here — that 
 whereas in other religions — I mean in the finest of 
 the old religions and the present religions of the 
 world, you get a standard of duty which men are 
 bound to fulfil, a demand of the God they worship 
 and declare for, on their obedience, you get in 
 Christianity alone, as far as I know, any idea of 
 
 254
 
 WINCHESTER 
 
 power given by God to man by which only he can 
 be perfectly obedient, — and most distinctively you 
 get that in Confirmation — all the gifts of wisdom of 
 the Spirit, 
 
 {To Miss K. McDowall.) 
 
 Tremans, 
 Nov. 23, 1900. 
 
 My Dearest Kitty, 
 
 What you ask in your second letter is so 
 delicate and difficult to touch upon ; and in some 
 ways so permanent a difficulty to every one, that 
 I don't want anything I say to put you off — if you 
 know what I mean — if it seems no help, or if you 
 don't like it, or if it doesn't seem to hit the point at 
 all, I want you just frankly to write and tell me so. 
 
 For in the first place you have grown up thinking 
 Christianity quite natural and easy, and a great 
 sweetener of life in times of trouble and a guide of 
 conscience, which if we don't obey we can repent 
 and be restored — easily. At least that is how most 
 carefully guarded English children are brought up. 
 So that in a sense it is a sweet and wholesome, 
 comforting, sustaining, backgmund of life ; this is 
 what you call an old childlike faith. And from the 
 very circumstances and guardedness of bringing up, 
 it does not and cannot seem a struggle, and death 
 on one side, nor life and liberty on the other. And 
 yet — if you read the Gospels and Epistles, what 
 isit ? 
 
 So we only emerge gradually into feeling it is a 
 life and death struggle, and that in comparison every- 
 thing else is unreal. And this you couldn't, humanly 
 
 255
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 speaking, have done, nor for a long time yet can you 
 really feel it probably. Nor should you try to, I 
 think, do anything but commit it to God, to teach 
 you in His own time when and how you are able to 
 bear it. 
 
 Now so far you are not in a peculiar position at 
 all, but in a quite normal one. But here is where 
 I think your particular difficulty comes in. 
 
 I think most children and girls take naturally 
 and without self-consciousness the position of know- 
 ing that they do not know, and that things are much 
 greater than they can know. But I think for many 
 reasons, parth^ your father's loneliness making him 
 want you much as a companion, partly that you 
 don't like reproof except from certain people (you 
 have asked me so real a question, that I want to 
 give you as real an answer as I can), that you haven't 
 known where the natural limits of your understand- 
 ing comes. You see what you call understanding 
 the theory of Christianity is very different from under- 
 standing Christianity, — as different as knowing 
 about pain is from enduring it, or knowing about 
 painting from being able to paint. And so you 
 have talked about things without really understand- 
 ing them— and that always has its revenge, and the 
 sooner the better. 
 
 I say we all of us have to face the difficulty of 
 the invisible seeming the unreal, instead of, as it is, 
 the most real. And some people try to meet it by 
 clothing it in all sorts of beauties, of music, of 
 ceremonial ; reminding themselves by continual 
 symbolic actions of its reality ; then you come in 
 and say easily and glibly " this is idolatry." And 
 to other people it seems as if the only way of realising 
 
 256
 
 WINCHESTER 
 
 the Invisible is to strip it of all material present- 
 ment ; and as you happen to agree with them more, 
 on the whole you criticize them less. But don't 
 you see, Kitty dear, that the worst of all these 
 attitudes, the most deadening, is the negative attitude 
 of criticism ? You hadn't yet entered into their 
 struggle, or known what they were contending with ; 
 and instead of spending all your energy to seize " the 
 evidence of things not seen," you are saying — " Such 
 and such people are idolatrous, — material, formal," 
 and suddenly you find that you are under the very 
 shadow of materialism, a real materialism, because 
 it isn't simply an honest attempt to express things 
 invisible, but, as you say yourself, the feeling of the 
 reality of material things. 
 
 You will not, I know, feel hurt by my writing 
 this, for one writes in these things so under a sense 
 of sinning the same sins, that it would be impossible 
 for you to feel offence with me. 
 
 Now I shouldn't want you to try any other 
 method of realising the invisible than what is natural 
 and customary to you ; but I do say most absolutely, 
 that I think you can't emerge out of this state of 
 mind until you stop criticising and condemning 
 other people — and I believe if you pray for humility 
 as well as light and help, and try to keep free in talk 
 and action and spirit from this critical and negative 
 view, that God will bring you out. Do not even 
 criticise those who criticise, — they probably have a 
 far better standing than your own to speak from. 
 
 And then I think you have a tendency — a very 
 common one — to mix up feeling and reality. To 
 agitate yourself in feeling over this, which would be 
 always your snare, rather than to insist regularly in 
 
 257 s
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 action on the importance of things invisible. You 
 know they are everything, though you don't feel it. 
 Do you pray as regularly as you work, and read your 
 Bible regularly, and examine yourself ? regularly 
 before you commmiicate ? Are you in fact making 
 your action correspond to what you know, or to what 
 you feel ? These seem little things — most people 
 want a panacea. 
 
 And then again there is this. God does bring 
 people out into light as we say " suddenly " — very 
 often, I mean there does come a time of life in 
 which just as one's mind seems to get into the new 
 life you are experiencing now I think, so God seems 
 to show to the soul a new kind of view of the world 
 and life. And no one can quite know when this 
 awakening may come, nor can any one hurry it ; 
 but you can try to " purify yourself even as He is 
 pure," by putting away all that hinders His working, 
 all pride, all resistance to His will, and by throwing 
 yourself on Him both to will and to do with you. 
 
 And when that comes all that I have said about 
 Christianity being a struggle will not be less true 
 but will have a quite different aspect, for you will 
 see that if it means suffering it also means life in a 
 way quite different from any you have known. 
 
 Dear Kitty, if there is anything in this which 
 seems a hindrance or puzzle to you, put it away as 
 either your misunderstanding or mine. 
 Your loving cousin, 
 
 Margaret Benson. 
 
 And Wednesday is your 21st birthday. All best 
 birthday wishes, my dear. I forgot that great fact 
 when I began to write. Yet it comes in singularly 
 
 258
 
 WINCHESTER 
 
 aptly. " When I was a child I thought as a child — 
 
 but when I became a man " The world isn't 
 
 really hnite, you see, unless you limit it to what you 
 yourself can see. 
 
 (To Miss K. McDowall.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 Dec. 7, igoo. 
 
 I went to the Foundling years ago when Momerie 
 was preaching there. It was one of the oddest 
 combinations I ever saw, with 5 public singers in 
 the choir, and the foundling chorus, and Momerie 
 preaching a philosophic sermon, with inappropriate 
 gestures, which had already been published. 
 
 259
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 TREMANS 
 
 It was clear, in a short time, that Winchester did 
 not suit my sister. Beautiful as the house and 
 surroundings were, yet the town was damp and low- 
 lying in the winter, and traversed by innumerable 
 streams, while in summer the sun brimmed the great 
 hollow, like a cup, in which the town lay surrounded 
 by high green downs, and the hot air rose quivering 
 from hundreds of tiled roofs. 
 
 We changed all our plans, and it was decided that 
 we should find a house in the country, and keep, if 
 possible, a small house in London, to which my 
 sister and Miss Tait had often to go for the sake of 
 various enterprises and businesses. The house in 
 London was soon found and taken by Miss Tait, a 
 little quaint panelled place, 5, Barton Street, in that 
 quarter of small Queen Anne houses lying just within 
 the precinct of Westminster Abbey. Its rooms were 
 tiny but most attractive, and the street was extremely 
 quiet, though central as well. 
 
 Meanwhile various houses were looked at, and 
 fruitless journeys undertaken to Basingstoke, Hasle- 
 mere, and elsewhere. At last Tremans was heard 
 of, quite by chance ; and though it was in a part 
 of the country with which we had no connection, it 
 
 26c
 
 H
 
 TREMANS 
 
 proved so attractive and delightful, that it was at 
 once taken, and the move began. 
 
 Tremans, Treemans, Treemaynes, Tremaines — it 
 had been known by all of these names at various 
 dates. It lies in upland country, between the great 
 tract of Ashdown Forest, with its heathery slopes 
 and pine-clumps, and the Sussex weald. It is close 
 to the little village of Horsted Keynes, five miles 
 from Ha5rward's Heath, and about twenty miles 
 north of Brighton. The countryside is all furrowed 
 into big ridges, running down into valleys threaded 
 by quiet streams, a tract of woodland and pasture 
 and little hamlets, curiously remote from the world, 
 though only some thirty miles from London. The 
 railway comes down from East Grinstead among 
 solitary valleys, and divides at Horsted Keynes, one 
 branch going to Hayward's Heath and the other to 
 Lewes, the latter passing through the fields below 
 Tremans and within sight of the house. 
 
 The house itself, I have little doubt, is one of the 
 most beautiful of its kind in that part of England. 
 It is ample and irregular, and of many dates, part of 
 it with stone coigns and mullioned windows, the 
 front of later Caroline brick- work, mellow and 
 dignified. Parts of it are weather-tiled, and the big 
 upstanding chimneys are of very various design. 
 It is approached by an avenue of old Scotch firs, and 
 is screened from the road by an immense yew-hedge. 
 It has a rough bowling-green above the house, with 
 a terraced walk running round it, a little garden in 
 front, with an iron gate between two high gate-posts 
 crowned with stone balls ; behind it is a big kitchen- 
 garden coming close up to the house, with fruit- 
 trees and fiower-borders, and protected by an ancient 
 
 261
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 brick wall, with ivy oozing from the crevices and 
 covered with toad-flax ; below the house is an old 
 cherry-orchard, and the farm-biiildings come close to 
 the garden, with high timbered tiled barns, a cattle- 
 byre, cart-sheds, and stables ; and a little chain of 
 old fish-ponds, screened by hazels, descends from 
 the house to the pastures. The roof is crowned 
 by a lead-topped cupola, which gives it an air of 
 some distinction. Beyond the avenue are more 
 barns, and an orchard with a fine old brick dovecot 
 in the middle, and more pools. Inside, the house 
 is finely panelled, great oak panels of a classical style 
 in the drawing-room and ante-rooms, and small 
 Jacobean panels elsewhere, with many curious 
 recesses and cupboards. It is a house full of lobbies 
 and useless spaces and little mysteries, strange 
 lofts and obscure passages. In one room at the top 
 of the house is a tiny panelled trap-door, which looks 
 out not to the open air, but on to a deserted space 
 in the roof, which cannot now be approached, while 
 from the trapdoor there descends a kind of well into 
 the basement, through which I imagine sacks were 
 drawn up for storage. The staircase banisters are 
 of solid oak, with vast clumsily-carved posts at the 
 angles. Most of the rooms have big tiled fireplaces, 
 with Tiidor mouldings, with iron dogs and back 
 plates of Sussex iron. 
 
 It is one of those old houses, half-manor and half- 
 farm, not uncommon in England, and was built by 
 a Wyatt, who was a kinsman of the poet. It had 
 originally an estate of about eight hundred acres 
 about it. But the Wyatts were unfortunate, and 
 the house became a farm, and later became a tene- 
 ment inhabited by three or four households at 
 
 262
 
 TREMANS 
 
 once. Then it was bought by the neighbouring 
 squire of Danehurst, Colonel Davies, and the house 
 was restored most magnificently by his successor, 
 Mr. Hardy, from the designs of Mr. Kempe, the 
 architect and stained-glass manufacturer, who lived 
 a mile or two away in a stately house at Lindfield. 
 It was intended to be a sort of dower-house for 
 Danehurst, and Mr. Hardy's eldest son, Guy Hardy, 
 had settled there on his marriage, but he eventually 
 moved to Danehurst, and Tremans was let for a time 
 to Viscount Wolseley, He shortly moved to Glynde 
 near Lewes, and it was then that we found it and 
 took it. 
 
 The move took place in the spring of i8gq, and 
 my first sight of it was in July of that year. I was 
 much tied at Eton then, with a big boarding-house, 
 with the result that I did not see Tremans till they 
 were settled in. I found myself at Horsted Keynes 
 on a summer evening with luggage, and fondly 
 imagined that I could find a vehicle, but it is a some- 
 what deserted station. A gentleman who had 
 alighted from the train with me noticed my em- 
 barrassment and offered me a lift ; we drove up and 
 down the leafy lanes, descending to a stream and 
 up again ; and in turning down the avenue, the 
 romantic little mansion, among its orchard-trees and 
 flower-beds, burst upon the view, as one of the most 
 exquisitely beautiful things I had ever seen. I found 
 Maggie alone, and shall never forget the speechless 
 delight in which I was plimged, as she led me all 
 over the wonderful little domain, where the familiar 
 furniture and pictures seemed to be already entirely 
 at home. 
 
 The whole place became inexpressibly dear to 
 263
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 Maggie, and the eight years she spent there were I 
 believe the happiest of her life. She took the whole 
 place under her care. She could not walk far in 
 those days, but she delighted in the open air. A 
 shelter was established for her in the orchard, an 
 ingenious little place that could be turned round on 
 its socket away from wind and sun. She built a 
 small brick platform in an angle of the garden wall 
 where she could sit snugly enough on surniy winter 
 days, and she painted on one of the old stones of the 
 wall the verse — 
 
 " True wind of heaven, from South or North, 
 For joy or chastening blow. 
 The garden-spices shall spring forth ' 
 
 If thou wilt bid them flow." 
 
 The letters are almost obliterated now by sun and 
 rain ; but it was a strangely prophetic word. The 
 garden-spices did indeed flow forth for her, yet the 
 chastening North wind came too, and swept her from 
 the quiet haven. 
 
 She spent much time upon the garden. She set 
 up on a pilaster a black basalt lion's head, an 
 Egyptian relic. It is weather-worn now and covered 
 with lichens, and enwreathed by creepers ; while a 
 little sun-dial which she established on an oak post 
 now hardly emerges from its thicket of rosemary. 
 She set up a wooden dove-cot in the cherry-orchard, 
 and used to watch the doves fluttering and bowing 
 round its ledges from her shelter, while she loved the 
 sight of the little road on the opposite hill-side, 
 winding up among the copses, because, as she said, 
 it looked as if some one might be arriving that way. 
 She painted a shield for the iron gate, now blurred 
 with rust, and we designed together an oak-pediment 
 
 264
 
 TREMANS 
 
 with a painted shield to shelter the front door, now 
 embowered in wistaria, while, in a recess above, the 
 two plaster heads of S. Francis and S. Dominic still 
 greet each other with worn smiles. The live-stock 
 of the place was Maggie's special care ; she estab- 
 lished poultry and cinnamon turkeys, pigeons, and 
 pea-fowl. The old peacock, a vain bird, used always 
 to hasten to the door when the carriage came round, 
 in order that he might admire himself in the polished 
 panels, and used to run behind it down the drive ; 
 while when she set a mirror on the lawn, he spent 
 the whole day peering at himself in it, and now and 
 then gently touching it with his beak. She had the 
 quickest understanding of the natures and qualities 
 of animals that I ever saw. She never spoiled them, 
 but they obeyed and loved her with a quiet loyalty. 
 The Welsh collie, Taffy, learned more extraordinary 
 tricks from her than I have ever known a dog learn, 
 because she did not impose her own mind upon him, 
 but followed the workings of his. She thought 
 indeed that she had overstrained his brain, when he 
 died later of a seizure, by pressing too hard upon 
 the pride and joy with which he acquired and 
 rehearsed his accomplishments. 
 
 I have never seen her so serene and happy as she 
 was at Tremans. She used to breakfast early in 
 her own room, and work at letters and papers, 
 coming down in the morning to sit in the garden, 
 where she was always ready to put her work aside 
 for leisurely talk. Her room was a beautiful one 
 on the first floor. One end of it was panelled, with 
 a huge cupboard behind the panelling. There were 
 two quaint recesses in the walls, many of her own 
 pictures, and a little prie-dieu of pine with a red 
 
 265
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 velvet cover and an Arundel triptych at the head 
 of it. Her books were in a case in the corridor 
 hard by. What she liked best was to wander about 
 the garden, and note ever3^thing with a quiet glance. 
 She made friends with the robins in the bowling- 
 green, and I remember her taking me out with a 
 few crumbs in her hand and bidding me to observe 
 their rules of life. At one place she scattered 
 crumbs, and a robin slipped from a bush to eat 
 them. A little further she scattered cnimbs again, 
 and the first robin appeared, but was instantly 
 engaged in combat by a new robin from a further 
 bush ; a little further on, the new robin took the 
 crumbs undisputedly. She explained that they had 
 regions of their own, carefully delimited ; but that 
 on the debateable frontiers a combat generally 
 ensued. Woodpeckers came and excavated holes 
 in the old cherry-trees. A partridge would bring up 
 her brood in the orchard-grass, or a pheasant nest 
 in the bowling-green, Maggie had her big black 
 cat called Ra, who afterwards came to live with me 
 at Eton, for fear of keepers, and died there. Ra 
 used to embarrass Maggie by going off to the woods 
 on a summer evening, stalking and killing a little 
 rabbit, and bringing it to her as a present. She 
 tried the experiment of anointing the tiny corpse 
 with mustard, and giving it back to Ra to eat. 
 But Ra only thought it a very nasty rabbit, went 
 away in dudgeon, and killed another. 
 
 Later on she had a beloved collie, called Roddy, 
 the cleverest and gentlest of dogs. He strayed 
 from home a good deal, and used indeed to domesti- 
 cate himself at neighbouring farms, being always a 
 welcome visitor, until Maggie attached to his collar 
 
 266
 
 TREMANS 
 
 a little canvas envelope, addressed with charming 
 vagueness, " To the people at the house ze'here he goes," 
 and containing a request that he might at once be 
 sent back, which proved successful. But Roddy 
 was a determined poacher, and went gaily off one 
 summer morning never to return, to our lasting 
 grief. 
 
 In a little room in the roof was contrived a tiny 
 oratory with an altar, pictures and stained-glass. 
 This was licensed for celebrations, for Maggie was 
 often unable to get as far as the Church ; while later 
 on it was also licensed by the Pope for Mass, and 
 Hugh celebrated there. Almost everything in the 
 house was arranged and adorned by her. She had 
 a quick eye and a deft hand, loved order and beauty, 
 and the whole place bears her impress. 
 
 Maggie loved old memories. In her room at 
 Tremans she had a little glass cabinet in which she 
 had gathered together a collection of little " gods," 
 chiefly Egyptian ; a friend remembers how one day 
 when they were standing together near by she 
 pointed to it and said, " at sundry times and in 
 divers manners." 
 
 It is at Tremans that I remember Maggie best, 
 and it is there in memory that I shall always 
 see her. 
 
 As she grew older she became very stately and 
 comely in face and movement. She took thought 
 about her dress, though she was economical in 
 temperament and hated waste. She used to come 
 down from her room laden with papers and books, 
 make her sweet and quiet greeting, ask if there was 
 anything that she could do. I remember ver}/ well 
 one tiny incident. There was a complicated bit of 
 
 267
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 family business which she had undertaken. It was 
 my last day at home, and she called to me softly 
 from the little panelled ante-room where she worked. 
 I went in, and found her with a pile of papers before 
 her. " Have you a few minutes ? " she said. " I 
 have been into all this and can explain it." Instead 
 of being grateful and considerate, I made some lazy 
 excuse. She gave a little glance at her papers, 
 looked up, nodded and smiled, and said " Very well, 
 then — any time to-day; whenever it suits you." 
 She put the pile aside and took up some other work. 
 It would have been easy for her to say that she had 
 unravelled the tiresome affair, and that at least I 
 might allow her to get it off her mind. But she 
 did not say a word of impatience or disappointment ; 
 and when later in the day we went through it all, 
 she was eager and almost apologetic for taking up 
 my time, when she had really saved me an infinity 
 of trouble. 
 
 One who knew her well in these last years tells 
 me that she was always struck by her great personal 
 distinction, and the beauty of her expression. 
 Though her illness had altered her appearance some- 
 what, experience had given purpose and depth to 
 her look, and had not changed the calm line^ of her 
 brow, or the expressiveness of her small and finely- 
 moulded lips, or the dignified poise of her head, or 
 her graceful and stately movements. 
 
 She always contrived, this friend says, in any 
 conversation, to give an added charm of lucidity 
 and dignity to one's own clumsily expressed thoughts ; 
 and she tells me how Maggie wrote her a letter which 
 impressed her deeply. They had been discussing the 
 difficulty of making choices and taking decisions. 
 
 268
 
 Pholo hy Frcdk. Argall, Truro.] 
 
 Mrs. Benson and Maggie. 
 
 1898. [To face page
 
 TREMANS 
 
 Maggie in her letter described a dream she had 
 recently had, in which she was trying to climb to 
 the top of a great ruinous castle, with the floors gone 
 and the stairways broken down. It was dark in 
 there among the precipitous walls ; but whenever 
 she hesitated, a strange light shone out on some 
 higher gallery or platform, which was a sign, she 
 knew in her dream, that she could reach it by a 
 determined effort. This, Maggie said, she had found 
 to be true of life, and that though there were heights 
 which were unattainable, there was always a light 
 breaking softly out upon any attainable point, which 
 beckoned one on, gradually and securely, the 
 " Kindly Light " of Newman's great hymn. 
 A friend writes — 
 
 ' ' She always had something of the child in her, 
 and this made her love children and made them love 
 her. I can never forget the moment when I put 
 my first child in her arms, nor the loving laughter 
 with which she greeted my apologies because he 
 wasn't a daughter, because he wasn't " Margaret," 
 as we had planned he should be. He was her godson, 
 and to him she soon became indeed a fairy godmother, 
 living in a fairy palace to which he felt he had the 
 magic key. Nor was there anything strange in 
 this — for surely, if anywhere in the world a spell of 
 romance hangs over Tremans. All the surroundings 
 suggest it : the gay flower-beds against the sombre 
 yew hedge, the sundial marking none but sunny 
 hours, the red garden paths, the platform of brick- 
 work where Maggie used to sit with her books in 
 the sunshine, with the sweet-smelling herbs brushing 
 against her dress and chair — the path between two 
 
 269
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 hedges called " the priests' walk " at the end of 
 which there is a crucifix bearing the legend : — 
 
 " Christ in His heavenly garden walks all ddy. 
 And calls to souls upon the world's high way." 
 
 And then the house itself — ^beautiful in colour and 
 in outline, and the animals that sprang to life as one 
 approached ; the peacock who raced along beside the 
 carriage to catch a glimpse of himself in the shining 
 panels, the little bantams cluttering round one's 
 feet at the front door in the hope of a handful of 
 grain from the bowl just inside the porch, the collie 
 that came to lick one's hand in greeting — all these 
 made a vision which a child could never forget. 
 And best of all — the sight of Godmother herself 
 ready to begin at once to exercise her magic powers — 
 able for instance to show one how to dig where real 
 pennies were to be found and to fish in a pond full 
 of floating toys, or to climb trees wherein strange 
 birds had built their nests and laid eggs of wondrous 
 hue. And perhaps afterwards a visit to that realest 
 fairy of all — old Beth the fairy nurse with her snow- 
 white hair and twinkling black eyes which saw 
 everything, old Beth who lived in a room upstairs, 
 hung round with pictures of little boys like oneself 
 but now grown into men and called Mr. Arthur and 
 Mr. Fred and Mr. Hugh — and who was of fabulous 
 age of course since she could not only remember 
 Mother and Godmother as children, but " Granny- 
 godmother " too — or said she did. And then the 
 joy later on of being able to bring a little brother to 
 see all these wonders, another little godson for God- 
 mother and called after her own brother Hugh. It 
 was a paradise for a child. Maggie knew exactly 
 
 270
 
 TREMANS 
 
 how to treat children and how to talk to them. She 
 devised the most delicious surprises and treats for 
 them, and loved to make plans for them as she had 
 done in old days for herself and me. She often 
 wished her brothers would marry that she might 
 have children about her. " Sometimes say * our 
 babies,' when you write of them," she said to me. 
 " Oh, why should some families be so rich, and 
 others have nary a child to their name ? " 
 
 Her letters to children are surely amongst the 
 sweetest she ever wrote ; take this one to my little 
 boy on his first birthday : 
 
 My dearest little Godson, 
 
 Though you won't get this to-day and won't 
 understand it when you do get it I must write it 
 to congratulate your father and mother and myself 
 (I don't count the other godparents) on the fact 
 of you. 
 
 Your mother appears to think little of your looks 
 and of your intellect, still I have reason to think 
 that in her own way she appreciates you. 
 
 I have racked my brains for an appropriate 
 birthday present appropriate to both of us — but I 
 don't think that a kind of nondescript furry animal 
 which is probably the only thing you could appreciate 
 would express my feelings at all. 
 
 So the only thing I can do is to give a birthday 
 present to your parents — and I'm sending the book 
 to your father as your mother seemed to prefer it. 
 You only care for account books I know. 
 
 I suppose you are having a tea-party and if you 
 are at all as engaging as a host as you are in every 
 
 271
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 other capacity it must be a very nice one. I Avish 
 I were there. 
 
 Your loving godmother. 
 
 Margaret Benson. 
 
 Miss Gladys Bevan, who became one of her 
 closest friends in these later years, writes — 
 
 " One of the difficulties in giving a presentation 
 of her personality is that it comprised qualities not 
 usually found in combination. Thus she possessed 
 extraordinary powers of subtle and complex thought, 
 and she was conscious that such thought is not easily 
 expressed in clear and simple language. 
 
 At the same time she had the faculty of wonder- 
 fully keen and rapid insight. This enabled her to 
 penetrate with great directness to the very heart of 
 any matter under discussion, and amid all minor 
 considerations by which it might be overlaid, at once 
 to seize the really vital point. Her power of keen 
 intuition together with the depth and wide range of 
 her thought formed a faculty of clear and sound 
 judgment which gave great weight to any view she 
 expressed and which enabled her wisely to plan 
 and carry out her various enterprises. 
 
 Bishop Collins, of Gibraltar, wrote with reference 
 to her opinion on some matter connected with the 
 Archbishop's Diploma in Theology : ' She is one 
 of the very wisest people I know.' These words 
 meant much coming from such a quarter. 
 
 Again, her fine literary and artistic sense in- 
 evitably made her fastidious in matters of taste. 
 But quite simple and ordinary things afforded her 
 the most genuine pleasure. I always remember the 
 
 272
 
 TREMANS 
 
 delight with which she would receive some little 
 present, it might be of very small value. This 
 simplicity in her tastes and pleasures was peculiarly 
 attractive. Any sort of ostentation and worldliness 
 was not only absent but was wholly alien to her 
 nature. She lived habitually in a region of pure 
 and lofty ideals, in the company of that which is 
 greatest and noblest and most gracious in human life 
 and thought. Poetry was always one of her chief 
 pleasures. I asked her once what had been the 
 happiest time of her life. She thought, and then 
 said : ' When we were at Kenwyn — I used to sit in 
 a field with my mother, while she read Tennyson 
 aloud to me.' 
 
 The largest and finest natures are distinguished 
 by the keenness with which they realise their 
 relationship to other people. To be in touch with 
 those around her was a necessity of her being. 
 Merely superficial intercourse she found unsatisfying. 
 This necessity was felt in varying degrees. She 
 faithfully kept up associations formed in childhood, 
 at school and at College ; but that which more than 
 anything else drew her to other people was some 
 need of theirs. For the weak, the sorrowful, the 
 lonely, she felt a peculiar tenderness. She would 
 spare herself no trouble in seeking to help those who 
 had difficulties, whether in their circumstances or 
 in their own dispositions. With unwearying patience 
 she would listen to all they had to tell her, and it 
 might be, bear with their waywardness, her insight 
 and clear judgment enabling her to understand just 
 what help was needed, whether encouragement or 
 rebuke ; but the rebuke no less than the encourage- 
 ment proceeded from the tenderness she felt to all 
 
 273 T
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 human weakness. One of her books of devotion 
 contained petitions for people in different conditions 
 and circumstances. On the blank page opposite she 
 wrote the initials of those for whom she was accus- 
 tomed to pray. They included many outside the 
 circle of her family and intimate friends — those with 
 whom she had to do in various capacities, her fellow- 
 workers, those whom she had known in former 
 years, etc. Each one was put down in her book 
 opposite the petition which was specially appropriate 
 and the needs of each remembered in her inter- 
 cessions. 
 
 But this continual expenditure of thought and 
 care proved too heavy a burden for one whose power 
 of sympathy so far outstripped her physical strength. 
 It weighed her down at times with a sense of 
 responsibility in matters which she was powerless 
 to control. 
 
 She had times of sadness when her longing to be 
 of greater service to others and especially to her 
 mother made her regret that her health allowed her 
 to do so little of all she desired. Other people worked 
 hard, but much of her time had to be spent in resting ; 
 no great physical exertion was possible for her 
 without severe fatigue. She said that she had so 
 much and gave so little in return. I suggested that 
 the value of work is not measured by length of time, 
 and that she gave in quality what others were able 
 to give in quantity. 
 
 But in her unselfish devotion to the needs of 
 others, there was nothing of that which with some 
 people passes as unselfishness, i.e. unwillingness to 
 accept as well as to give help. She considered that 
 those who are always doing things for others without 
 
 274
 
 TREMANS 
 
 desiring any response or affection, lose much which 
 would make their own lives richer and fuller. I 
 suggested that as some people are not able to make 
 a response such an expectation might be making 
 demands which are impossible of fulfilment. She 
 thought it better at any rate to make the attempt, 
 and said that one gained the love of other people 
 rather through receiving kindness at their hands 
 than by showing kindness to them. 
 
 She wrote to me once about being worried from 
 being obliged to give up one's work for a time, with 
 the necessity it involves of leaving it to other people 
 who are already hard- worked. She said that it 
 was a pity to allow the feeling that one is useless 
 to weigh on one's mind, and that the feeling was 
 probably in great part the reaction from having 
 too many claims on one's time and thoughts. She 
 did not think that it was good to be in the position 
 always of responding to those claims, that one 
 needed time to oneself, when no claims were made, 
 certainly not of business, perhaps not even of 
 affection, and that it was good to use times like 
 this when they came, to ' go into a desert place 
 and rest awhile.' The very restlessness one experi- 
 enced at such a time was a symptom that one needed 
 it. She advised giving as much time as is possible 
 to reading, and perhaps to meditating too — in 
 serenity. It was good, she said, to throw off the 
 feeling that one ought to be doing something, and 
 to take the cessation of claims with gratitude and 
 serenity, 
 
 I once asked her what fault she most dis- 
 liked. After thinking for a few moments she said 
 ' Hardness.' She often referred to Browning's 
 
 275
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 ' Paracelsus ' as illustrating the mistake of regarding 
 human life too exclusively from an intellectual 
 point of view, to the neglect of human love. She 
 was fond of quoting the remark with which her 
 old nurse would express disapproval of some story 
 which had been read to her : ' I can't think why 
 they were so unloving.' For Maggie too, to be 
 unloving was a defect serious enough to mar any 
 character.' 
 
 The years between 1899 and 1907 were very full 
 of quiet work at home, but there came a further 
 visit to Egypt with my aimt, Mrs. Henry Sidgwick, 
 and Miss Gourlay in 1900. It really seemed, at this 
 time, that though she was still delicate, her health 
 had been established on a secure basis, and the old 
 maladies left behind. 
 
 Miss M. Ponsonby who met her at Aix, on her 
 return journey, writes as follows : — 
 
 " We went to Aix-les-Bains just after my father* 
 died. I didn't know Maggie very well before then, 
 but her room was next to ours, and we had long 
 talks every day. 
 
 " What impressed itself so much on my mind was 
 her power of looking at circumstances as the}' are, 
 and not as one wants them to be. I mean that 
 one so often soothes one's vanity, by trying to 
 bamboozle one's self. Maggie made me feel that 
 this was such an unworkmanlike way of coping \\'ith 
 circumstances and life. In arguing something out, 
 she used to say there was always an ' unrestrained 
 
 * Sir Henry Ponsonby, formerly Secretary to Queen Victoria. 
 276
 
 TREMANS 
 
 fraction ' which couldn't be accounted for. To 
 this day Mama and I use that expression, and call 
 it ' Maggie Benson's unrestrained fraction.' 
 
 " The ' unrestrained fraction ' was a certain 
 unknown and unexpected element in oneself. I 
 remember her saying that certain thoughts were 
 like a spiral, there was always the bit that didn't 
 quite join, and that made the start of the next 
 circle. She was very much down on cocksureness, 
 which she said meant ignorance, as no one could 
 foretell exactly how they would behave, or much 
 less think, under certain circumstances, because 
 of the ' unrestrained fraction.' 
 
 " One thing Maggie made me beware of, and that 
 was the conventional unconventionality of the 
 unconventional ; then there was her delightful sense 
 of humour, and when I embellished a story to make 
 her laugh, she knew quite well I was romancing, 
 but liked it to go on. Only the other day, when 
 I saw her during her illness, she reminded me of 
 
 how I kissed Lady J with such vehemence 
 
 in the hotel lift that I tore her veil, so that she had 
 to go on to a tea-party with her nose protruding 
 through the rent. 
 
 " I think she gave the people she met more 
 courage because her injfluence was so unconscious. 
 
 " What made her so delightful a companion was 
 that one felt she dug the best out of one and often 
 elicited something which one was not conscious of 
 possessing. It was impossible to be a shade or 
 even a shadow ungenuine with her." 
 
 It was in the years that followed that she initi- 
 ated and organised, with the help of her friend Miss 
 
 277
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 Gourlay, some of her mobt practical pieces of work. 
 One of these was the St. Paul Association, for Biblical 
 Study. Meetings were held once a month in London, 
 to which lecturers were invited, and a lending- 
 library of theological books was formed. She 
 also initiated a Vacation Term for Biblical study, 
 held at Oxford or Cambridge or elsewhere with 
 lectures and discussions and quiet reading ; and she 
 further arranged with the authorities of King's 
 College, London, a series of theological lectures for 
 women. She also gave much help in arranging 
 details for the Archbishop's diploma in Theology 
 for women, which was organised by her friend Miss 
 Gladys Bevan, at whose house in London she spent 
 much time, and upon whose friendship she greatly 
 depended. 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 Mrs. Stephenson, who worked with her, sends me 
 a few reminiscences, which are particularly inter- 
 esting as showing my sister's power of attracting 
 and stimulating helpers. 
 
 " I was very much younger than Maggie, and my 
 chief impression of our meetings is one of great 
 excitement — a new sense of possibilities — because 
 she listened to all I had to say, and transformed 
 my half -thoughts into interesting whole ideas, of 
 which she gave me to understand that I and not she 
 was the originator. A sentence in one of Monsignor 
 
 Benson's letters reminded me of her : * 's 
 
 book made me feel him very clever— yours made tne 
 feel very clever.' Maggie made one feel ' very 
 clever.' I do not know whether others would 
 
 278
 
 TREMANS 
 
 agree, but my personal experience was that under 
 her inspiration, one undertook work for which one 
 was quite unfitted ! I do not tliink she realised 
 how immature and inadequately equipped one was, 
 because, exhilarated by her sympathy, one's limi- 
 tations were for the time obscured. 
 
 '- She was the S. Paul Association. All the life 
 went out of it when she could no longer be there. At 
 the end of the set paper, she was almost always the 
 first to speak, and fill the horrid pause with suggestion 
 or criticism. I remember her saying ' I am always 
 left to make a fool of myself, while N. and G. are 
 convincing each other of some important point in 
 whispers at the other end of the room.' Of her 
 own contributions her insistence on the ' dying to 
 live ' principle stands out most clearly in my mind. 
 She often quoted ' Except a corn of wheat, etc' 
 On her suggestion, I organised a meeting of the 
 Association, of which ' Authority ' was the subject ; 
 Mr. Wilfrid Ward spoke from the Roman point of 
 view and a Unitarian friend of Mrs. Humphry Ward's 
 took the other side. I remember Maggie passing 
 down a little note to me, ' You have brought about 
 the Reunion of Christendom.' 
 
 " She was, of course, the greatest fun to be with, 
 though that is so diflicult to convey. I think she 
 was the first person who made me understand that 
 brilliant intellectual power and lively humour could 
 be combined with great patience with the dull and 
 stupid. When some wearisome person began to 
 speak at an S.P.A. Meeting, and one longed to rush 
 out of the room, Maggie always seemed to be rather 
 touched ! 
 
 " She once said that if she married she would 
 279
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 more easily say the words ' For worse — in sick- 
 ness — for poorer ' than their opposites." 
 
 My mother writes — 
 
 " Maggie was very good at using help. When she 
 was writing the Venture of Faith, she could keep 
 several people employed — it was like the Japanese 
 plate trick — as many as seven volunteers could be 
 kept going, and each revived with a smart touch 
 when flagging." 
 
 Miss Arnold-Forster writes — 
 
 S. Hugh's College, 
 Oxford. 
 
 " It was at a summer meeting of women for 
 Biblical study — at Cambridge, eleven years ago — 
 that I first came to know your sister Maggie. It 
 was virtually she who created these meetings, and 
 her impress is so stamped on them that, though for 
 several years before her death she was unable to 
 attend them, everything in them still speaks of her, 
 and witnesses to the foresight and largeness with 
 which her plans were laid, so that they have proved 
 capable of growth and adaptation. The principles 
 that she thought out for securing to women-teachers 
 and others a fuller and more scholarly training 
 towards a living understanding of the Bible, are still 
 the foundation of all that is done at these summer 
 meetings ; while it is in complete harmony with 
 her free ungrudging spirit that changes in detail 
 are made from time to time, as occasion demands. 
 It was all a closely-knit scheme, and various develop- 
 ments speedily sprang from it, in which she took an 
 
 280
 
 TREMANS 
 
 active part — the most notable of all, the examination 
 for women known as ' The Archbishops' Diploma 
 in Theology,' together with the creation of a body of 
 licensed women-teachers in Theology. But it is 
 not of her work but of herself that I would speak. 
 My knowledge of her, as measured by time or by 
 amount and intimacy of intercourse, was but slight, 
 and yet my recollections of her personality are 
 strangely vivid. Already when I knew her first, 
 her health was beginning to fail, and she had to limit 
 her personal part in the meetings, and to husband 
 her strength, though behind everything her domin- 
 ating spirit made itself felt. 
 
 " I seem to see her now as I saw her and heard her 
 for the first time in a little crowded room at Girton 
 on a dark August evening, intervening in a discussion 
 among the students themselves, on some knotty 
 point in the IXth of Hebrews. She was full of 
 suggestions, eager ; keenly anxious to do justice to 
 the views of others and to explain her own, but as 
 she spoke she was struggling for breath, as though, 
 in the old words, the corruptible body was seeking 
 to press down the soul, her brave and ardent soul. 
 That first strong impression of spirit in her, 
 triumphing over physical disabilities, was often 
 afterwards renewed, and so too was my accompany- 
 ing impression of the delight with which she threw 
 herself into the discussion of great questions, and 
 welcomed new light upon them. Hers was a very 
 large and hospitable soul ! It stood open to new 
 ideas as it did to new friends, so soon as she had 
 satisfied herself that they were true in aim. It was 
 this which made her friendships so remarkable, 
 and such a distinctive part of her life. She had 
 
 281
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 many dittering points of contact, and in each case 
 she seemed to me to iind something special, both to 
 give and to draw forth. 
 
 " Her nature was a singularly generous one, and 
 this largeness and generosity shone out in many ways. 
 For herself, she was fearless where the presentment 
 of the old faith in new forms was concerned ; or 
 rather she hailed it as a matter of rejoicing, as an 
 enlarging of spiritual boundaries. But she was 
 tender over the shrinkings of more timid minds, 
 and was always anxious to establish an under- 
 standing between the forward and the backward 
 elements in the camp. It was characteristic of her 
 that on one occasion, when she found that the words 
 of some lecturer had given pain, she was insistent 
 that the difficulty should be referred direct to himself, 
 pleading that ' he could not ' really have meant 
 what was supposed, and that he would be ' so glad ' 
 of the opportunity of clearing away possible miscon- 
 ceptions. 
 
 " It was to me an interesting study to watch your 
 sister during lectures, and to observe how keenly 
 she was following the lecturer, while at the same 
 time she was obviously working out fresh questions 
 in her own active mind for him to solve later — 
 questions that were propounded orally or in writing. 
 Her hand-writing was not always of the most 
 legible order, and I recall one little scene when the 
 lecturer confessed his inability to decipher the 
 anonymous question, and how she rose in her place 
 and led the laugh against herself with that gay 
 infectious laughter of hers in which none could help 
 joining, and then proceeded to pour forth a torrent 
 of ' hard questions ' carefully thought out. 
 
 282
 
 TREMANS 
 
 " If your sister could have seen, as we now begin 
 to see, how far-reaching were to be the results of her 
 plans, and how already in numberless direct and 
 indirect ways they are bearing fruit not in England 
 alone, but in India and Africa and in Japan, and 
 among peoples who will never hear her name ; if 
 she could have seen in what rich measure her visions 
 were being realised, in a quickened study of the 
 Bible, in the light of modern thought and discovery, 
 and in a freer, yet none the less reverent, teaching 
 of its perpetual lessons — she would have been the 
 foremost to proclaim that this is in large measure 
 due to the band of faithful helpers who co-operated 
 with her from the very first. But her foundations 
 were ' well and truly laid,' and the spirit of expect- 
 ancy in which she worked, caused later-comers to 
 find themselves drawn into an inspiriting atmosphere 
 of hopefulness. If it be true, as Mr. Illingworth 
 somewhere says, that ' It is the men of hope who 
 carry forward their fellows,' then your sister 
 undoubtedly had this mark of leadership. And yet 
 it was in her no mere blind hopefulness. She im- 
 pressed me as having a deep interest in character 
 and a clear-sighted facing of difficulties. She saw 
 all these things, but yet you felt that what she was 
 looking at, in both her friends and her causes, was 
 never the blemishes and the hindrances, but always 
 the underlying good that was capable of rising above 
 them ; and this I believe to have been the secret 
 of the inspiration that has given both stability and 
 growth to her work, now that it has to be carried 
 on by others without her visible help." 
 
 283
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 
 (1900.) 
 
 Two points of a lighter order. 
 
 I see they've invented a machine called the 
 Brotherhood Depression Range-finder, so I'm going 
 to invent one called the brother's depression range- 
 finder — Fred would register high, being wonderfully 
 cheerful in spite of weather and war ; he's writing 
 his story — well too. 
 
 Also I dreamt that Mr. Arthur Balfour was dead, 
 and Mr. Gerald Balfour asked me to edit a philo- 
 sophical essay of his. But I went to a seance and 
 met A. B.'s spirit, who was very angry on the subject. 
 Then I was in a quandary, doubting if G. B. believed 
 in mediums, and hesitating therefore to give this 
 as a reason for declining to edit. An unknown 
 lady tried to intercede with the spirit, saying that 
 I was a pupil practically of his own, to which, when 
 it was reported. I replied that though I admired 
 his books much, I had read Kant and Hegel inde- 
 pendently, and took my stand on them. 
 
 {To Miss Gourlay.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 
 Jan. (1900). 
 
 . . . And oh, dearest, isn't it your birthday and 
 the beginning of all things to-morrow or Thursday ? 
 If I wasn't such a fool in the head I should know 
 what to say, but it's coiled up inside like a watch's 
 mainspring, so you must believe it's there. Oh my 
 dearest, you are such a nice person — nicer and nicer. 
 
 284
 
 TREMANS 
 
 (To S. A. McDowall, Esq., in a Nursing 
 Home in London.) 
 
 Kempshott Park, 
 
 Basingstoke. 
 
 (1900.) 
 
 I can only hope they will give you nice food ! 
 that ca7i be a very strong interest at times ; I have 
 seen Fred grow pink with excitement after typhoid 
 at the sight of Food for Infants ; and Nettie Gourlay 
 said she once travelled back with a man who had 
 just had t3^phoid, and who talked about Gooseberry 
 Tart from Alexandria to Marseilles. 
 
 Hugh proved a broken reed with regard to 
 roach.* After your scourings of London, quantities 
 of advice from another friend, correspondence with 
 the Wyresdale Fishery, Hugh said that the pond 
 must be deepened first. Then we asked and got 
 permission for that. Then he said he would rather, 
 first of all, make a bathing-place in the Trout Stream. 
 So he and Fred took old boxes, planks, sacks and 
 bricks, and tried to dig it out and dam it up. Next 
 morning the dam broke. After that Mr. Hardy 
 gave him general permission to fish in a rather more 
 real trout stream — which he did for about a week 
 on end, and caught about 5 trout. 
 
 Well, I must stop. Take for your Motto " He 
 divided his time into small alternate allotments of 
 eating and sleeping." 
 
 * It was proposed to stock a small pond at Tremans with 
 fish. 
 
 285
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 {To Miss Gourlay.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 
 (1900.) 
 
 The operation (Uncle Henry's *) was carried 
 through quite successfully — but oh it is different 
 whether an operation leads to a new lease of life, 
 or to a diminished life. Only if one had more 
 assurance of things unseen, it would probably turn 
 all one's ideas of renewed and diminished life upside 
 down. After all one has no right to talk as if one 
 hadn't that assurance. I expect it hurts one's 
 assurance of feeling to talk as if one hadn't assurance 
 of conviction. 
 
 {To S. A. McDowall.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 
 May 12, 1900. 
 
 About Holy Orders, I feel so entirely what j^ou 
 say that I did not wish even to ask about it, unless 
 you mentioned it yourself, though I had it in my 
 mind very often in speaking to you. And of course 
 one believes that though the call will be clear enough 
 to act upon, yet that the preparation may come 
 gradually — by one's mind turning, so to speak, 
 to the outskirts of the subject, and to the conditions 
 of the work ; and again through the experiences 
 God sends one ; and in working among the poor, it 
 seems to me that experience — even such as you 
 have had — of illness, is a great gain. For I think 
 in some ways it is analogous to the experience of 
 
 * Henry Sidgwick. 
 286
 
 TREMANS 
 
 real poverty ; it gives in the same way a check to 
 self-dependence, and makes one not only know but 
 feel how helpless one is, and how dependent upon 
 God ; a thing which robust health sometimes hides. 
 It is such an immense help if one is trying to help 
 those who suffer to have known some sort of suffering 
 or weakness oneself. 
 
 {To S. A. McDowall.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 
 Sept. 30. 
 
 I am so very sorry to hear about the loss of your 
 friend. It is an extraordinary testimony to be 
 able to say that you never saw him out of temper. 
 It is a thing one has a tendency to think so lightly 
 of — and Christ treated it as so essential. Yet there 
 is an extraordinary peace about such troubles — when 
 one can see the action of the hand of God — so that 
 sometimes in looking back upon times of sorrow, 
 they seem full too of a certain peaceful happiness. 
 I felt it so after Martin's death. 
 
 {To S. A. McDowall.) 
 
 Kempshott Park, 
 Basingstoke. 
 Oct. I, 1900. 
 
 O what a wretch I am to have forgotten. 
 I have no excuse as Kitty reminded me, and can only 
 say that my whole family forgot my 21st birthday, 
 though T spent it with Mother at my birthplace — 
 
 287
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 until I reminded them in the evening — by shedding 
 a tear of discretion I am afraid. 
 
 This coming of age is the fmieral so to speak 
 
 of my potential guardianship. Well I liked having 
 
 that, for it seemed to give a kind of proprietary 
 interest in you. 
 
 Dear Stewart — this is a futile letter — but that's 
 only because I am stupid and can't express all I 
 want and hope for you. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Marseilles. 
 
 Dec. 6 (1900). 
 
 It isn't very nice in dock because the port-holes 
 have to be shut, and you see vagabonds gazing in 
 from outside. I turned out m}^ light while an Italian 
 Rufhan was looking in, upon which he made faces 
 at me. 
 
 I have begun an elaborate letter to Apollos ! 
 covering the whole ground of the Christian faith — 
 but in view of the gulf, it's not likely to get on very 
 far at present. 
 
 [To her Mother.) 
 
 S.S. Himalaya, 
 
 Gulf of Lyons. 
 
 Dec. 6, 1900. 
 
 We have had a lovely time on the whole — only 
 one rough day. Round the corner of Brittany it 
 
 288
 
 EGYPT 
 
 pitched and rolled and raced ; that began at 6 on 
 Saturday. It rolled all across the bay on Sunday 
 and settled down on Monday, so that though we 
 had fiddles on the table at first, everyone was about 
 and getting better and better, and all the rest of the 
 time it was like a river. Aunt Nora stayed serenely 
 in her berth all Sunday, eating arrow-root and being 
 quite calm. It was really glorious yesterday, the 
 sunrise over African hills. And the sunset over 
 Africa and Spain ; and finally a full moon, and 
 phosphorescent light running on every ripple. 
 
 I do nothing ; I have read 2 stories of Fred's since 
 I came on board ; and 3 Epistles of S. Paul, and 
 meditate on apologetics to Mr. Montefiore, and play 
 occasionally knuckle-bones with Olive, and a Nea- 
 politan game of cards — a very good one— with Ashley 
 Eden. I love doing nothing, and feel immensely 
 well, and I have never enjoyed a voyage so much. 
 
 I dreamt about you and woke up weeping this 
 morning ; which by all dream-rules should bring 
 good news to-day. 
 
 [To her Mother.) 
 
 Cairo. 
 Dec. 13 (1900). 
 
 So here we are again — with a real Egyptian 
 morning, and the palms dusty and the kites whistling; 
 and a negress housemaid, with bracelets and neck- 
 laces and enormous ear-rings, beating our Persian 
 carpets with a carved stick, over a balcony as we 
 sat at breakfast. 
 
 289
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Feb. 4, 1901. 
 
 How glad you must have been to have had 
 those quaint personal touches with the Queen. One 
 could wish to have been in England now to know 
 all that is passing. Curiously enough, — for it was 
 accidentally settled — we went the evening of the 
 funeral by moonlight up the Valley of the Tombs of 
 the Kings, and into the one untouched Royal Tomb. 
 The painting as fresh as when it was done — and at the 
 end, down galleries and staircases, the coffin, and the 
 case, with the swathed body of the king, and some 
 mimosa flowers, dry and brown, but unbroken, 
 lying on his breast. It was a wonderful and extra- 
 ordinary sight. Robbers had once broken in, and a 
 royal commission had sent inspectors, B.C. iioo or 
 so ; but the robbers had been disturbed, before they 
 disturbed him, and the inspectors had left all as it 
 was. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Gurnah. 
 Thursday, Feb. (1901). 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 This is Indian ink, as I can find no other, 
 but it seems all right for writing. 
 
 Nettie was awfully pleased to get your letter and 
 wanted to write to-day but I have stopped her, as I 
 wish particularly to write myself and I think she 
 may spread out to another day. 
 
 Our plans both for Egyptology and for travelling 
 290
 
 EGYPT 
 
 must seem rather like the " glittering chameleon." 
 Here is a new departure, and the most definite thing, 
 in a sense, that has yet turned up. Mr. Newberry 
 has been planning to write a history of Egypt — a big 
 history and a standard one — to be more complete, 
 but especially more literary than Petrie's. It 
 appears that he approves of my literary (!) powers, 
 and he has asked me to help him. He is going to try 
 to get his American millionaire to finance the work, — 
 as the return, if it comes at all, will be slow — and he 
 wants it to be done in 2| years. On my part, it 
 would involve some work at the British Museum ; 
 visits to certain museums, e.g., the Louvre — the 
 suggestion being that my expenses should be 
 partly paid for ; and, in general, making it the chief 
 business for the next 2 years — after I have got the 
 Addresses done.* I needn't settle till I get to 
 England, but it will partly determine our plans, as, 
 if it is on the cards, it is much more worth while 
 to come back through Italy and see the Museums 
 there. 
 
 Objections. 
 
 {a) This is me, not Nettie, whereas I always 
 wanted her to do the Egyptology. I can't feel that 
 Egyptology is the thing most worth doing in the 
 world, though I feel that about most other things 
 while I'm doing them. Such a lot of times ic my 
 life I've been driven this way and that — things 
 stopped just when I thought I was getting to them, 
 or like Egyptology, opened just when I could do 
 
 * God's Board, a little book of my father's Addresses at Holy 
 Communion, which Maggie was editing. 
 
 291
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 nothing else ; or perfectly clear and without any 
 question, like Papa's books. But I have felt as if 
 most of these were preparation for something else — 
 joined with a vague feeling and a great desire to be 
 called to something more definitely or more directly 
 in the service of God. Now if I take this it is a free 
 choice, and I shall be 38 when it's finished ! 
 
 On the other hand it would be real good work of 
 its kind. It wouldn't leave another loose end in 
 life, it would be thoroughly compatible with health 
 and what we want home life to be (oh Tremans does 
 always rise up like " a little New Jerusalem "). I 
 do wish I knew what the Bishop of St. Andrews 
 would say — I'm really perplexed, though generally 
 I have been clear — or rather I have generally felt as 
 if there wasn't any particular choice open. 
 
 Oh, Mama, you are all so very nice at home ! 
 Your lovingest daughter, 
 
 M. B. 
 
 It would help, as real history must help in my 
 philosophy, if I ever write it. Other things are 
 problematical, though I should like to know if 
 Arthur does want help in anything else ; and I 
 haven't been " called " in any way I can at present 
 recognise. But if I undertake it, I must stick to it. 
 
 [To her Mother.) 
 
 Gurnah. 
 Feb. 17 (1901). 
 
 We had a long day in the tombs of the Kings 
 on Friday. Did you see them, I forget ? I had only 
 been there once, before this year. Now they are 
 
 292
 
 EGYPT 
 
 swept out, and look clean and white and wonderful, 
 so that you step out of blazing sunlight and dust 
 into long white corridors with painted walls, going 
 down into darkness, all covered with strange visions 
 of men without heads, or upside down, or bent back- 
 wards, wrestling with serpents, and black scarabs 
 rolling red earths or suns, all going down into the 
 underworld, with something less than " sure and 
 certain " hope. I wish one could work out this 
 religion question. Baedeker — said to be "very 
 good " — explains " a man bent backwards is spitting 
 out a scarabaeus," — " the king with one arm up is 
 falling back on a mountain," — " figures of daemons 
 or genii sometimes enclosed in ovals." It sounds 
 like Lear's Nonsense Book ! And somebody further 
 explains by saying it is " only symbolism." We 
 have been up to one tomb this morning where besides 
 the service Nettie and I succeeded in singing five 
 hymns — very loud. Also I read some more St. 
 Augustine, which seems to me one of the most 
 wonderful books in the world. Didn't he write De 
 Civitate Dei — is there a translation cheap ? 
 
 There are so very many things I want to talk to 
 
 you about — (i) Y . Sometimes I feel absolutely 
 
 at home and extremely fond of her, and feeling that 
 she is as nearly (not complete) but faultless as a 
 person can be. And then the whole length and 
 breadth of the world apart. And on the whole I 
 think you get more truth by being too credulous 
 than too sceptical — and for the rest I want to talk 
 about people and things and " shoes and ships and 
 sealing-wax." 
 
 293
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 {To her Mothcy.) 
 
 March loth (1901). 
 
 Here we are really leaving Luxor — and I 
 walking on to the boat as well as anyone else — and 
 it seems like a dream to think of that Sunday 4 years 
 ago — the corresponding Sunday to this — and yet 
 at the same time it is about the realest thing in life. 
 We went over to Luxor last night, so that we were 
 able to go to service in the Church this morning. Oh 
 Mother, what an awful time for you all that year 
 was ! Of course one couldn't realise it at the time. 
 But anyhow I don't think, but know that you are the 
 most wonderful person in the world, — as you say, 
 " What a Mama I've got." 
 
 All I can tell you in a letter seems so sparse — but 
 you know much of the surroundings. Yesterday, 
 coming across the desert to Luxor, I felt like coming 
 back through the looking-glass ; for the other side 
 among the ancient Egyptian and the Arab is very 
 different. And sparser still what one says about the 
 rest — but this keeps coming back to one — " Oh 
 what great troubles and adversities hast Thou 
 shown me, and yet did'st Thou turn and refresh 
 me." 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Castellamare. 
 April iitb, 1 901. 
 
 Pompeii is curiously fascinating, but it is not 
 beautiful. It's just like a small ruined Italian 
 
 294
 
 ITALY 
 
 city now ; and mostly with the worst kind of scene 
 painting in the houses ; but at neady the very best 
 it's like very well done chocolate boxes ; the very 
 best of course are really beautiful, but they are 
 mostly at Naples. The gardens with their statues 
 are singidarly like small villas ; and not so much 
 better. But the really impressive thing is to look 
 up a sunny empty street, and see Vesuvius smiling 
 away at the top, knowing what it means ; with an 
 apparently innocuous cloud like a lamb's tail stream- 
 ing away from it in the blue. 
 
 We aren't doing much — finishing Egyptian 
 drawings, sketching a little, etc. Oh I do want to 
 come home ! I have been away quite, quite long 
 enough, and though this place is very beautiful, I'm 
 not a bit under the fascination of Italy. I want to 
 see our own nice little house and green trees, not 
 grey ones. 
 
 {To hey Brother Hugh.) 
 
 May nth, 1901. 
 
 We went to Milan Cathedral last Sunday not 
 knowing it was Holy Cross Day ; it was a most 
 wonderful sight, and the whole cathedral was full 
 from end to end ; greatly of peasants ; it was a 
 display of a relic with which one's untrained senses 
 would be least in discord, I think ; for in the great 
 Cross they carried there must have been evidently the 
 Wood of the Cross ; yet it did seem to one that there 
 the confusion between materialising and objectifying 
 
 295
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 was made. It does seem to me this must exist too 
 in any view of the Sacraments, which drops the 
 subjective side, because when that is done, " objec- 
 tive manifestation " tends to become equivalent to 
 " manifestation in finite material things, rather than 
 in finite spirits " ; whereas, however much one must 
 believe in the manifestation of God in the material 
 universe, one believes that the nearest manifestation 
 is through spiritual existences — human or otherwise 
 — and it is here one comes back to (isn't it S. 
 Augustine's ?) saying, that there is no definition of 
 the Body of Christ which does not include " ye are 
 the body." 
 
 Perhaps these are only my own obvious reflec- 
 tions brought out by a passing view of Romanism in 
 Italy. 
 
 2g6
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 LETTERS 
 
 It was now that Maggie corresponded very fully 
 and freely with her cousin Stewart McDowall, who 
 was passing through a time of intellectual unrest, 
 and was disposed to scrutinise closely and criticise 
 the religious beliefs in which he had been brought 
 up. 
 
 {To S. A. McDowall.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 May 26, 1901. 
 
 . . . One generally comes to the most interesting 
 part of a conversation just when it's time to stop ; 
 and I've been wanting to go on with ours which was 
 broken off. 
 
 First about the orchids — which was very interest- 
 ing. I don't see that even if one did prove purpose 
 in an orchid, it would bear upon the religious question. 
 And I don't see that adaptation, and over-ruling 
 adaptation, would prove purpose. For in the case 
 of animal life, where you have consciousness, the 
 physical adaptation (according to scientific men) 
 takes place outside consciousness, by the action of 
 environment, through the survival of the fittest, etc. 
 You can't by deliberation make one hair white or 
 black, — but (outside consciousness) the action of 
 
 297
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 nature does make the arctic animars hair white, and 
 the tropical man's hair black. 
 
 If adaptation takes place apart from conscious- 
 ness in conscious beings, it couldn't prove conscious- 
 ness in a being where you had no other evidence of it. 
 
 But the other point is more important. You 
 said that if a man could lead a really good life without 
 being a Christian, it seemed to shew the uselessness 
 — (or some such words) of Christianity. And what 
 I wanted to go on with was that the fact of 
 Christianity of Christ's life, is even more important 
 than the knowledge — or rather the recognition of it. 
 
 Take even the historical and social side. You 
 say the man is living without Christianity — but is it 
 really so ? 
 
 How has the life of Christ and the fact of Christi- 
 anity changed the whole course of history ? By 
 bringing in an utterly different standard of conduct. 
 The man's whole social surroundings, political 
 constitution, early education has been moulded by 
 Christianity, through a long period of history. 
 
 He may say he has thrown off Christian beliefs. 
 And he may have thrown off one or two definite 
 beliefs, — but consider all the habits of thought and 
 life which he cannot throw off, — the respect for 
 humanity, the care for the suffering and weak, the 
 conceptions of freedom, of honour, of truth, the 
 ideas of discipline, temperance, charity, all that the 
 Christian world brought in upon the heathen world, 
 and then moulded indistinguishably with what we 
 call civilisation. 
 
 Think of the man himself, — his instinctive 
 morality, interests, habits, his very physique, have 
 been moulded by Christian ancestry, that is through 
 
 398
 
 LETTERS 
 
 an ancestry of men and women who have been 
 tidying to live more or less according to the Christian 
 standard. 
 
 Even if you judged of the man, after two or 
 three generations, who had thrown off Christian 
 beliefs, still the whole formation of society, formed 
 by Christianity, could not be eliminated. And yet 
 the deteriorating effect can be, I believe, traced in 
 such a country as France. 
 
 It is altogether a wrong test to compare the 
 lives of earnest disbelievers, George Eliot, Clough, 
 not to take others, with the lives of the conventional 
 Christian — for they had the enthusiasm or real 
 purpose of a newly thought-out morality, — ex 
 hypothcsi, they were people who cared deeply, and 
 faced real trouble in giving up belief. 
 
 Of course I don't mean to say that the knowledge 
 and belief in Christ does not make a great difference, 
 more and more difference as the generations go on. 
 But I mean that the fact that Christ lives, that good 
 is stronger than evil, that He has " overcome," 
 makes even more difference than our recognition of 
 it ; and that many men who do not recognise Him, 
 still believe in Him, since they believe in so much 
 — in truth, in love, and in compassion, which is all 
 personified in Him. 
 
 {ToS.A.McDowaU.) 
 
 5, Barton Street, 
 
 Westminster. 
 
 July 22nd, 1901. 
 
 ... Do you mind if one takes this up where it 
 left off ? 
 
 299
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 I don't see how one can make the future of 
 animals a difficulty. The difficulty appears to me 
 to be in our own incredulity. Why should we be so 
 set on thinking that they don't go on existing ? It 
 seems to me it must be some impress of Latin races 
 (who care little about animals) on our Christianity. 
 
 Of course there is little about them in the Bible, 
 but so is there very little about children, or any 
 definite social question — or marriage. But what 
 does that come to ? 
 
 " Consider the birds — your heavenly Father 
 
 feedeth them " " Not one of them is forgotten." 
 
 (And if you had ever seen living sparrows hung on a 
 string, in a bunch, — of no account, that would have 
 a much more forcible meaning.) S. Paul does say, 
 " doth God take care for oxen," but also, in the 8th 
 Chapter of the Romans, he uses far stronger words 
 than most Christians feel themselves able to accept 
 about the redemption of the whole creation. And 
 it does not seem to be an isolated passage, but the 
 outcome of all his philosophy. 
 
 These are the only places I know where it is 
 definitely touched upon — but what is really meant 
 by the " restoration of all things " — the " new 
 heaven and new earth " ? I think many people 
 have in the back of their minds that it would be a 
 little derogatory for the Divine to care for animals. 
 It is like Heine's mistake, which, as my father said, 
 is thinking of God not as infinite, but only very 
 great. 
 
 About the sufferings of animals in this world, 
 I think there are many things to be considered — if 
 one compares them with human beings — but chiefly 
 this : The law of suffering is evidently on one side a 
 
 300
 
 LETTERS 
 
 law of purification— of the world. The human 
 being falls under a double law, of physical and 
 mental suffering, but the animal has not only antici- 
 pation (probably) in a less degree, but is hardly at 
 all touched by mental strain, anxiety, worry, still 
 less by moral strain, remorse, guilt, repentance, the 
 strain of moral effort and responsibility, — and the 
 great strain — for it is really so — of desiring to find 
 in the world the same laws of justice and mercy as 
 are implanted in us, i.e., the strain oi faith. 
 
 I have begun to think that one must regard 
 physical suffering as covering for them, in some 
 sense, the ground of moral effort. And with all 
 this I think one has not half enough rational humility. 
 The more one knows of the world, the more one sees 
 how very little one can ever know in this life of the 
 real being of things. So far as we know every force 
 is indestructible. Is it likely that the force of 
 vitality, and personality, the most ethereal of all, 
 is the most mortal ? Altogether, considering the 
 vast ocean of our ignorance, and the strong things 
 that are said about animals, it seems to me that 
 to make the possibility of their non-existence into 
 a difficulty is a most gratuitous construction of 
 stumbling blocks. 
 
 [To her Mother.) 
 
 Runwell Rectory, 
 
 Wickford. 
 Aug. 30 (1901). 
 
 Dearest Mother, 
 
 Oh ! This is heavenly and don't I wish you 
 were here. Here I sit, with such a nice clean 
 
 301
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 country vicarage behind, and an old church across 
 the garden, and a bridge to meadows in front, with 
 a brown cow who seems to be yearning for sympathy. 
 
 A dog-cart and a lovely collie met us, and Hugh 
 looks well, and is out now visiting the parish. He 
 is teaching the waifs and strays to sing (9 of them), 
 and in the school twice a week ; and is to help the 
 waifs-and-strays' school-master with English com- 
 position, as he is unable to help him eitlier in Arith- 
 metic or English grammar. I've just had some 
 callers, the married daughter of the Squire, who is 
 living in one of her father's farm-houses. Oh it is 
 nice though, and feels at the present moment rather 
 like a chapter out of the middle of a story in an odd 
 number of a Magazine, with no beginning or ending. 
 
 But there's nary a novel in the house except 
 Oliver Twist. Not one. Can you send us some 
 — fairly standard. Not of the Dracula order— and 
 plenty of reading in them ? 
 
 We had the most comfortable little journey — 
 heaps of time in London, and lunched peaceably 
 at 1.30. 
 
 Give my love to the Ponsonbys if they haven't 
 gone — and to Bethie. How I wish she were here. 
 Your lovingest daughter, 
 
 M. B. 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Kempshott Park, 
 
 Basingstoke. 
 Dec, 1901. 
 
 You are about the only person I know who 
 makes criticism pleasant. The instinct of the 
 
 302
 
 LETTERS 
 
 Benson family in response to extorted criticism, is 
 generally, " Then I shall put the whole thing in the 
 fire " — it creates a nervous atmosphere about the 
 critic. 
 
 {ToS.A.McDowalL) 
 
 Kempshott Park, 
 
 Basingstoke. 
 Dec. I, igoi. 
 
 ... I don't think I said that dogma should be 
 squashed, but dogmatising. A religion without 
 dogma would be like statistics without facts, or 
 science without laws — but the deduction from 
 primary dogma is unsafe often — only this dog- 
 matising tendency seems to me to be just as much 
 shewn by such theories as you represent Comte's 
 to be. But I oughtn't to discuss him at second 
 hand. 
 
 Are you worried by half-arguments that seem to 
 tend against Christianity without being in them- 
 selves adequate ? I think one m.ust dismiss from 
 one's mind anything one judges really insufficient. 
 But I don't agree with you that an3/thing so vital 
 as Christianity ought to be indisputable — 
 
 " You must mix some uncertainty 
 With faith, if you would have faith be " 
 
 If it is to be anything but mere intellectual 
 consent, as if to the fact that the world is round, 
 it must be the attitude of throwing oneself on the 
 things that are highest and best in life, and com- 
 mitting oneself to the most loveable and strongest 
 personality in all history — the attitude of saying 
 
 303
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 " I will take the side of this Man, the most perfect 
 and most heroic who has ever lived ; he cannot have 
 been mistaken." That was the problem then — and 
 is the same now — and continually one is brought back 
 to this point. But it's just the harbouring of half- 
 doubts which isn't true to either the intellectual or 
 moral attitude. They are ghosts ! 
 
 {To S. A. McDowall.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 Dec. 15, 1901. 
 
 ... It seems to me that a lot of questions turn on 
 what you mean by dogma. I think I take it in the 
 natural sense of doctrine. In which case it would 
 be plainly absurd to say that it has done more harm 
 than good. It does harm if it's false doctrine, and 
 good if it's true. But if you mean by dogma the 
 dogmatising spirit, or the doctrines of intolerance, 
 or doctrines you disapprove of, the case becomes 
 different. Dogma no more burnt Ridley, than did 
 the doctrine that the earth goes round the sun. The 
 moving spirit that burnt him was a spirit of in- 
 tolerance, acting under the belief that faith was 
 altogether a matter of will, and that disbelief merited 
 and could be affected by punishment, — a spirit which 
 attached itself just as much to the doctrine " There 
 is one God and Mohammed is his prophet " as to 
 any Christian doctrine — therefore it proves nothing 
 at all about the doctrine itself. 
 
 I suppose by the Athanasian Creed you really 
 mean the damnatory clauses, — I confess I don't say 
 them, and I wish the whole creed could be relegated 
 to its original position. The philosophic terms are 
 
 304
 
 LETTERS 
 
 so difficult now especially, as one understands so 
 little historically of the particular errors they were 
 directed against. 
 
 But if you are going to ask riddles about eggs, I 
 should say 
 
 (a) that I eat bodies not souls ; 
 
 (&) that I don't attach any particular meaning 
 to potentiality ; 
 
 (c) Do you speak of evicting a potential tenant 
 if you take a house which otherwise some indeter- 
 minate person might have taken ? 
 
 {d) If there is a potential soul, I am far from 
 certain that corporation (especially as a chicken) is 
 the greatest benefit that could be conferred on it ; 
 and 
 
 {e) from the point of view of the Egg it is quite 
 as nice for it to corporate my soul as a chicken's. 
 
 (/) I don't know when the potential soul is 
 corporated in an egg, but I should say not before 
 the chicken is — .-. it depends on whether your eggs 
 are fresh eggs, or, as Drummond says " cock and 
 hen " ; and 
 
 (g) If the excorporation of an actual soul is not 
 on my conscience {i.e. when I eat a chicken) a 
 fortiori the excorporation of a possible one won't be, 
 when I eat an egg. 
 
 {To S. A. McDowall.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 Jan. 31, 1902. 
 
 But there is something so nice and so 
 genuine about people who are living so close to 
 
 305 X
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 realities of life. The more one goes on, the more 
 noe feels how much Nellie did know people ; how 
 directly and simply she took them, and how keen 
 her humour was without interfering with, and of 
 course really helping, her discrimination and real 
 care for them. 
 
 But oh — where has the Benson part of you 
 gone to about my " irony " ? " Contradict while 
 you are thinking what to say " — Do you remember 
 Nellie's maxim ? 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 Feb. ist (1902). 
 
 The " mysterious book " isn't really mys- 
 terious, only it needs so much explanation. When 
 I was about 24, I set out in a sanguine kind of way 
 to disprove scientific and historical difhculties in 
 religion. Naturally one's point of view changes ; 
 but the main object was to define the position which 
 a reasonable person, reasonably educated, but not 
 expert, could take up with regard to such diffi- 
 culties ; knowing that one couldn't without being an 
 expert try to solve the question, yet being aware 
 that if Christianity means anything, a historical 
 doubt as to the authenticity of S. Matthew can't 
 shake the whole fabric of faith. Showing, too, how 
 many of the popular difficulties are really on less 
 reasonable grounds than popular acceptance. This 
 in a sober middle-aged way I'm still trying to do. 
 
 306
 
 LETTERS 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur. 
 
 Tremans. 
 May nth (1902), 
 
 We should have loved to have Mrs. Cox's 
 dog for a visit of any length ; but we are in serious 
 difficulties just now ; for not only do Jack and Toby 
 go out hunting together, whenever they are both 
 free, but (what can't be guarded against), two black 
 cats take Jack hunting with them when Toby isn't 
 there. I am afraid any new dog would inevitably 
 be corrupted by all these evil communications, and 
 one or all of them may get shot at any time. We 
 have two Persian kittens too who might be a diffi- 
 culty. But the first point I fear is prohibitive. 
 
 Hugh writes to me that he has already written 
 [" conveyed " he says] about his position to you ; 
 but I suppose it was not very new to you — his face 
 has been set in that direction so evidently for so 
 long ; and yet one can't imagine really his going 
 further. There is a wonderful pendulum movement 
 in the British nature, even perhaps in Hugh's. 
 
 [To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 June 20 (1902). 
 
 Your most delightful letter followed me up 
 to Barton Street and came down with me again 
 here. Otherwise I should have answered it before, 
 — for such a letter gives one a xQdlglow of happiness. 
 I do believe that however different one's tastes and 
 
 307
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 occupations may be, the family bond is far stronger 
 than one is entirely conscious of ; but when there 
 isn't that disparity — when you let me into one side 
 at least of your work, and one that is a thorough 
 pleasure to you, and all the old ties ripen into friend- 
 ship which one can consciously enjoy, it is a great 
 delight, and grows more to me year by year. Will 
 you give me the Schoolmaster ? — I almost think I 
 like it better than anything you have written, and 
 it is so much you that I should like it for a birthday 
 present better than anything — especially after your 
 letter. 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Lambeth Palace. 
 June 27, 1902. 
 
 I remember that time very well, when we 
 agreed in abusing the world and life. I am glad you 
 too feel differently now. Yes, I am sure it makes 
 an immense difference when one realises that being 
 personally unhappy doesn't mean that there's any- 
 thing necessarily wrong with the universe, — that it 
 was to be expected — and besides, it is much to know 
 that one can be glad of having gone through a time 
 of difficulty or unhappiness. Not that it makes one 
 more impervious to unhappiness, — possibly it makes 
 one shrink from it more in prospect, — ^but to have 
 known by experience what Brewster calls the "double 
 value " of such times makes a great difference. 
 
 That extract from Henry James' letter is in- 
 tensely sad ; it sounds as if he had simply found the 
 power of endurance, — to be able to say, " it's life, 
 
 308
 
 LETTERS 
 
 it's fate," and not to be able to say, " it's God," is 
 terrible, — deadly ! 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 Oct. 7, 1902. 
 
 As for myself, if one has got to have bronchial 
 catarrh and lungs, Tremans is a good place to have 
 them in ; I've had plenty of experience as to the 
 nicest rooms to be ill in, and my own is the best : 
 and as soon as one is allowed to go out, as I was 
 to-day, the garden is heavenly ; also the 2 puppies 
 and the 7 cinnamon turkeys, and the 5 bantam 
 chickens are charming objects from a window. But 
 still these things don't make one a cheerful member 
 of a family in the remote country. More and more 
 I feel it isn't the right place for mother. The 
 country isn't revivifying to her ; she doesn't feel 
 invigorated by village life and country people, as 
 Lucy and I do — and when her eyes bother her 
 as they do now, it is almost impossible to forget 
 
 it. Miss G turned up this morning saying that 
 
 she at any rate had a voice, and proposing to read 
 to me, or amuse Mother by conversation ! It was 
 awfully nice of her. 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 Nov. II (1902). 
 
 Hugh has taken a distinctly new start in grow- 
 ing up — although he and J B (also a 
 
 309
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 clergyman of the Church of England) bought pea- 
 shooters and peas at a village shop, and shot down 
 corks with them all the evening. They also played 
 with bottles on the lawn all yesterday afternoon. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 (1903-) 
 
 Dearest Mother, 
 
 I was so sorry to have left imder a false claim 
 of depression. It was quite general, and due perhaps 
 to having had 4 mortal illnesses between tea on 
 Sunday and breakfast on Monday, as well as loco- 
 motor ataxy and general paralysis between Friday 
 and Sunday. As all but a threatening of softening 
 of the brain have now departed, perhaps it was less 
 specific illness than the general enemy of the human 
 race. This is only a general apology. 
 
 Your lovingest daughter, 
 
 M. B. 
 
 {ToS.A.McDowall.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 Jan. 25, 1903. 
 
 What it seems to me is being more and more 
 forced upon the " unorthodox " of this generation 
 is this : — that science, even if it comprehends all 
 positive knowledge, is only a department of thought, 
 only one of those things on which a theory of the 
 universe rests. 
 
 That a theory of the universe must involve com- 
 plete experience, — and, in this, religious experience ; 
 
 310
 
 LETTERS 
 
 in this lies the consideration of (a) origin, (b) ends, 
 (c) ethical consideration, {d) essence ; e.g., 
 
 (a) What the whole universe began from, 
 
 {h) What it is going to, 
 
 (c) Whether it ought to be so, 
 
 {d) What it really is in itself. 
 
 The ivhole of science is written in these four 
 corners, — [even including psychology and religious 
 science, if you grant there is such a thing]. 
 
 And more and more the fact is borne in on all 
 kinds of people that religious experience past and 
 present, hasn't been sufficiently taken into con- 
 sideration. 
 
 Here seems to me the danger of cramping the 
 scientific spirit, and saying, " you must not take 
 from me this particular fact, or the religious edifice 
 will go." Whereas what is the matter with the 
 scientific spirit generally is that it doesn't see its 
 limits, and complains quite truly, that it is being 
 cramped on its own ground ; unaware that its own 
 ground only covers one department of thought. 
 
 Of course this is very obvious with the physical- 
 scientific spirit, which thinks that if it explains the 
 physical side of development, e.g., of religious experi- 
 ence, it has explained that experience in itself. 
 
 I have got flue — slight, — and can no more. 
 Write again — please, and tell me what this doesn't 
 meet. 
 
 {ToS. A.McDowall.) 
 
 Sidmouth. 
 Feb. 26 (1903). 
 
 I think what I incline to believe is this. That 
 the truest way of viewing " the fire " (if one takes 
 
 311
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 that as a symbolic expression) is as a purgative fire, 
 a fire which consumes all that is corrupt, leaving all 
 that is eternal. That we can never say of any man 
 that there is nothing eternal and divine left in him. 
 But that if a man were to give himself wholly over 
 to evil, he would necessarily, by a divine law of 
 nature, suffer the Second Death of the Revelation, 
 from which there is no resurrection. 
 
 That the principle of evil is always being con- 
 sumed ; and will ultimately cease to be (since it is 
 not divine and eternal) in that day which S. Paul 
 speaks of, i Cor. xv. 24-29, when even death itself 
 shall be dead, and God shall be all in all. 
 
 Do you know Charles Kingsley's " True Words 
 to Brave Men " ? I think it is there he speaks of 
 " the worm that dieth not, and the fire that is not 
 quenched," and says " Thank God that the fire is 
 not quenched," but is eternally there to consume all 
 that is corrupt in man. So that the truest way to 
 view it perhaps is to think that the real meaning of 
 all these symbolic expressions is that God will not 
 leave us alone ; that there is an eternal war between 
 the divine and the evil ; that God will save us, if we 
 will it, by the way of life, — through surrender of our 
 wills to Him ; but if we will not, He still saves us 
 through the way of death and hell, burning and 
 consuming until all that is corrupt has perished ; 
 that if a man wholly gives himself to evil, deliberately 
 gives up all his powers and being to it, that man 
 perishes in the final destruction of evil. 
 
 Our Lord does say " until he has paid the utter- 
 most farthing." What does " until " mean unless 
 there is still hope ? 
 
 With regard to the parable of Dives and Lazarus, 
 312
 
 LETTERS 
 
 you must remember that this does not (I believe) 
 represent a final state, " Abraham's bosom " mean- 
 ing " Paradise " not " Heaven." I think this is so. 
 If you have not got Kingsley, I will try to find it 
 when I go home, — he says much about this which I 
 think you would care for. 
 
 About our Lord's own words, I do not see that 
 there is anything which, being examined, goes 
 against this view. And He often says that He did 
 not intend His words to be plain to the superficial 
 hearer, but intentionally spoke in parables. 
 
 [ToS. A. McDowall.) 
 
 Villa Palmieri, 
 
 Florence, Italy. 
 
 [April 27, 1903.] 
 
 I. Mind and matter. 
 
 I don't say mind must be the presupposition 
 because it's the last development ; neither do I 
 believe that it is the last development. 
 
 What I do say is that if you try to speak of 
 matter without presupposition of mind, you'll find 
 you have got hold of an irrational term ; i.e. that 
 there is no meaning in the thing you are talking 
 about. 
 
 {a) This is quite evident about secondary quali- 
 ties: i.e. there is no "green," no "odour,"no "sound" 
 except to an eye, a nose, and an ear in connection 
 with a sentient brain. 
 
 Of course you'll say that is the same vibration 
 which produces colour, etc., through the sense to 
 the brain ; but do you really attach any meaning 
 
 313
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 to space and time which does not involve a mental 
 factor, i.e., a relation between points, and moments ? 
 e.g. succession is a relation between moments, but to 
 connect the moment which was and is not with this 
 which is, means a principle of relation ; . does relation 
 mean anything to us apart from mental force ? 
 
 However little one's theory of the imiverse should 
 be limited by logic, one must at least be discoursing 
 in terms which mean something. 
 
 I can't say mind is creative of matter (though I 
 think it probably is), but I do say that it is doubtful 
 whether it is possible even to begin to form a theory 
 of pure materialism, because in so doing you are 
 employing irrational terms. 
 
 You see the point about science is that it only 
 treats of matters within the sphere of final causation ; 
 when you get to religious and philosophic thought, 
 you are driven to speculate about origins and ends ; 
 scientific people are driven to this very often, and 
 don't realise that they can't apply the methods of 
 science here, because there is no reason to think, or 
 rather scientifically to know that they obtain beyond 
 the true region of science. 
 
 But when you come to your agnostic declining 
 to have any use for a supreme Being whom he cannot 
 understand ; it seems to me that his refusal to go 
 beyond his intellect is quite different to my refusal 
 to deal with irrational terms. 
 
 I can't deal with irrational terms, because I don't 
 know what I'm talking about. 
 
 But when I speak of an infinite Being whom I 
 believe to be benevolent, and yet whose Creation is 
 in a condition which would seem incompatible with 
 human benevolence, I don't understand the problem, 
 
 314
 
 LETTERS 
 
 it is true, but I do know what rm talking about. I 
 cannot make any scheme of Divine doings which 
 will be an adequate, consistent and logical explana- 
 tion ; but neither could I, if I had never had an^^ 
 knowledge of surgery, make any reconciliation of a 
 surgeon's benevolence and his action if I saw him 
 performing an operation, nor of a scientist's common- 
 sense and his action if I saw him making explosions 
 and " stinks." Indeed it follows that if there is any 
 explanation, one could not follow it out ; for any 
 explanation that one co^ild follow out must be in- 
 adequate to the facts, of which one could only know 
 a small part. Therefore it seems to me what one 
 needs to keep hold of is this — that there is a double 
 value in all events, and that evil is certainl}^ not 
 simply what it appears to be. 
 
 This is a common experience about illness and 
 pain, and I believe it is true about sin also, — in 
 philosophical language, the immediate contradiction 
 is reconciled in a higher unity. Expressed very 
 simply in religious language, " All things work 
 together for good to those who love God." 
 
 As for your agnostic friend, his attitude seems to 
 me to be very crude in certain particulars. 
 
 There is a story told of the Queen that a lady 
 was presented to her, and some one said afterwards 
 to the Queen that the lady had been very much 
 impressed by her. Upon which the Queen said " It 
 doesn't matter what she thinks of me : what matters 
 is what I think of her." 
 
 Apply this to your agnostic who is an^aigning 
 God at his own bar. If there is a God, it matters 
 not the least what your man thinks. What matters 
 is what is thought of him. 
 
 315
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 Your man has got the universe upside down, as 
 much and more than anybody who thought that the 
 solar system went round the earth, and that the stars 
 were created to give it Ught when the moon wasn't 
 shining. I mean he can't make anything of any 
 theory which puts himself at the centre oj things. 
 
 I really must stop. 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 S. Leonard's. 
 
 (1903.) 
 
 I can't let the day go without an answer to 
 your most delightful letter this morning. It does 
 help me more than I can say to know that you could 
 feel like that — and after all " the less deserved the 
 more divine." For I have been lately particularly 
 suffering under the sense of how little I do, and how 
 much I get ; and from the feeling of the scrappiness 
 of even what one can do, and the fact that it is so 
 often one's own fault, one way or another, that has 
 incapacitated one. And curiously, I had been think- 
 ing lately of how different all this would seem if I had 
 had anything like your life of full and steady work 
 behind me. So your letter comes with special com- 
 fort this morning, and the affection which makes you 
 write it is better than all. 
 
 For I have just fallen into the same pit again — 
 partly through the carelessness of a doctor, and 
 partly I suppose through my own ; and after a 
 fortnight of staring from bed at a bad oleograph of 
 bare-legged children, and some scripture-pictures 
 
 316
 
 LETTERS 
 
 which might make anyone an atheist, I've got to 
 go home in an invaUd carriage to-morrow, and to 
 bed again until my lung chooses to get well. How- 
 ever, there's nothing acute or alarming this time, 
 only a rather long business. 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 Sept. 8 (1903). 
 
 Hugh went off yesterday looking so absurdly 
 young in layman's clothes, that Lucy got quite con- 
 cerned for the shock the monks would have on seeing 
 him. He wants things to be only " moderately 
 private ' ' just now. But not actually public property 
 till the step is taken. 
 
 {ToS. A. McDowall.) 
 
 Kempshott Park, 
 Basingstoke. 
 Sept. 21, 1903, 
 
 To take the serious part first — I want to 
 really thank you for your letter about Hugh. One 
 isn't so accustomed to entirely single-hearted action 
 that one can afford not to be thankful for that, 
 however much in its immediate results one must be 
 sorry for it. 
 
 But indeed it was so necessary from the first to 
 put away all extraneous considerations, everything 
 
 Z^7
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 that wasn't essential, that one is only now beginning 
 to contemplate it in the results. 
 
 But he has been so open with us throughout, 
 that there is no such feeling of separation as people 
 sometimes have. Well — I was glad to get your 
 letter, and to know you were one of the people 
 who understand all this, however alien the action 
 is in itself. 
 
 I think in some ways the hardest thing for him 
 will be to have to take such a different line from the 
 people he has taught. 
 
 {To her Brother Hugh, then in Rome.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 Friday. (1903 ?) 
 
 My dearest Hugh, 
 
 We are all thinking of you so constantly 
 that I must just send this line to tell you so — though 
 perhaps you know it already. I won't even try to 
 express what one must feel in a strange confused 
 and divided way, — but I do thank God for these 
 quiet months in which we have been able to under- 
 stand so much of what is moving you ; so that one 
 hasn't got only to believe, but can feci the unity of 
 aim. 
 
 I mean much more than I can say — you know 
 that. 
 
 Beth's dearest, dearest love and " I wibh I 
 could see him." 
 
 Your loving sister, 
 
 M. B. 
 
 318
 
 LETTERS 
 
 {To hey Brother A rthur.) 
 
 5, Barton Street, 
 Westminster. 
 Nov. 22 (1903). 
 
 The S. Paul Association has grown very interest- 
 ing. Dr. Sanday gave a most excellent lecture 
 on the Gospel and ist Epistle of S. John, from 
 the critical standpoint. Under Gwendolen Talbot, 
 a rather surprising meeting is taking shape, a 
 discussion on " the Claim of Authority over the 
 Individual," which Mr. Wilfrid Ward and a Uni- 
 tarian Minister are opening. We hope to get some 
 moderate view also represented. As this rather 
 developed of itself, I am glad of it ; if we had set out 
 to arrange it from the beginning I should just hate it. 
 
 You have heard of Taffy's death ? It is sur- 
 prising that one can mind about a dog so much, 
 but the feeling of personality was so strong in 
 him, that we seem in a fair way to canonise him. 
 But will you write him an epitaph — " earnest 
 expectation " is the idea that always occurs to one 
 with him, whether it was for a stick even, or the 
 divine appreciation of human beings. 
 
 About the S. Paul Association and other similar 
 undertakings of my sister's. Miss Jpurdain writes : — 
 " Maggie had the unusual gift of leading her friends 
 to know one another well, through herself. These 
 groups were in most cases transformed into a party 
 of friends, not over-mastered or dominated, but 
 able to express themselves easily through her. Just 
 as she had done at Oxford, she brought round her 
 
 319
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 people of different temperaments and backgrounds, 
 and discovered the central interest that would unite 
 them." 
 
 {ToS. A. McDowall.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 [December nth, 1903.] 
 
 But I don't say all those things nor any of 
 them. I never said religious phenomena were out 
 of the range of science ; nor do I think I could have 
 spoken of religious phenomena as being a class by 
 themselves. The point is that what is extra- 
 phenomenal, metaphysical if you like, is out of the 
 range of science, e.g. ultimate origin and purpose. 
 It is in this respect the two planes are different. 
 
 Yes I thought it just worth while to send Chester- 
 ton, though one doesn't take him for more than he 
 is — formalistic and paradoxical, — but he is clear- 
 headed, and puts the point I was aiming at. 
 
 If the scientist says deliberately, " It's all I 
 have," meaning "I'm not going behind phenomena 
 and physical causation," — well, if he insists on taking 
 that agnostic position, he must. If he confesses 
 that limitation after a study of philosophy and 
 religion, it is probably a real limitation of his own 
 mind. But if it is before any such study, it is a 
 limitation of an ignorance with which he hasn't set 
 himself to contend. It can no more be called honest 
 doubt, than it would be honest doubt in me to dis- 
 believe in the truth of the Differential Calculus. 
 
 But I mustn't go on now. I am shut up with a 
 lungy cold. Now here is an instance under my 
 hand. I don't call such a cold a religious pheno- 
 menon ; I quite believe in its being scientifically 
 
 320
 
 LETTERS 
 
 accountable for. But if I realised every single step 
 in that physical causation, it wouldn't affect one 
 atom whether I believe it also in God's providence 
 to have an end and a purpose, i.e., a religious aspect. 
 The religious explanation and the scientific can't 
 conflict, because they are not on the same plane. 
 There's an example in minutiae of what I mean. 
 
 I don't think any attitude regrettable which 
 means facing a doubt honestly ; and the only thing 
 I find " regrettable " in your present letter, is a 
 certain difficulty that you seem to show in believing 
 that you can't have the question fairly before you. 
 The way of scientists and philosophers is enough to 
 set your teeth on edge. They get things so mixed 
 up. 
 
 {To S. A. McDowall.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 December 17th, 1903. 
 
 Morals and Metaphysics and Theology being 
 the most difficult subjects in the world, are those in 
 which it's commonly supposed that study and 
 concentrated thought is unnecessary. But as you 
 won't believe me about this matter, let us come to 
 the point. 
 
 What kind of scientific evidence in the ordinary 
 sense do you suppose could prove extra-phenomenal 
 existence ? 
 
 What kind of evidence do you imagine does prove 
 the presuppositions of science — e.g., the law of the 
 uniformity of nature which is presupposed in every 
 
 321 Y
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 case of causation, and therefore without a circular 
 argument cannot conceivably be proved by it ? 
 
 Don't you see that you haven't yet grasped the 
 method I am trying to point to you, from the very 
 fact that, for the second time, you have tried to 
 destroy an argument not which I did not but which 
 I could not use — except by a slip ? 
 
 I never said it was not more honest to believe in 
 the differential calculus without having studied it, 
 than to believe in some theological point. 
 
 The reason which you put is quite clear and 
 quite well established — i.e., the reason of universal 
 assent of all who have studied it. 
 
 What I said was it was not more honest to 
 disbelieve in one than the other without study. 
 
 There is every ground for suspension of judgment 
 pending study ; no ground but ignorance for dis- 
 belief in what has either so great a partial or universal 
 assent. 
 
 What seems to you clear, you say, is that we 
 must rely for religious belief solely on intuition. 
 
 This is where I lind your position wholly inde- 
 fensible — not intellectually so much, as on the 
 standpoint of intellectual honesty. 
 
 For you do know this much — that not theo- 
 logians only, but all metaphysicians, are concerned 
 with the question of what constitutes the ground 
 work of proof. Epistemology doesn't enquire only 
 into the methods of scientific argument, which take 
 for granted e.g. laws of causation, laws of uniformity 
 of nature, etc., but into the validity of such pre- 
 suppositions. Well,— by Kant, e.g., the very same 
 questions were applied to basal religious beliefs. 
 
 Granted that there is an intellectual cosmos, he 
 322
 
 LETTERS 
 
 argued, certain laws of thought, categories, etc., are 
 necessarily true as being therein implied. These 
 are the basis of science which science can therefore 
 never prove. 
 
 Just so, granted that there is such a thing as 
 morality — a moral cosmos, — what, he asked, are 
 the presuppositions of this ? He finds these simi- 
 larly with basal religious truths. 
 
 Of course all this is the a, b, c, of metaphysics, 
 but your scientific arguments no more meet the case 
 here than the ordinary curate's who argues against 
 evolution. You shoot quite wide of the mark. You 
 would find all this and more in a hundred books, put 
 better than this. Where I think the difficulty comes 
 in is this — (I have been considering the whole 
 question in regard to wom.en's education) that 
 religious education (including elements of religious 
 philosophy) is on so much lower a level than educa- 
 tion in other subjects. And this is not recognised 
 generally when people begin to be disturbed by 
 doubts. 
 
 Any religion touches of course scientific and 
 historical phenomena, psychologic phenomena and 
 metaphysic truth. From what you say I don't 
 think you can know how .study is being conducted 
 e.g. in comparative historic study of religion, in 
 scientific psychological study, and in philosophy of 
 religion. Philosophy of religion is of course ihe 
 point, for the question before it is just this— in what 
 region is the evidence ; how far can scientific his- 
 toric difficulties, etc., touch the underlying truths ; 
 how far will they yield to them as seen in the new 
 aspect ; how far could they ever prove what is 
 worth proving ? 
 
 323
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 I write frankly and strongly because I don't think 
 this attitude is worthy of you. Not the attitude of 
 being disturbed by doubt — you can't really find 
 your balance till you are threatened with losing it — 
 but the attitude of not really seeking fresh light from 
 new regions you haven't studied. 
 
 I don't write as from the outside. When I was 
 your age I began writing a philosophy of religion 
 which I haven't finished yet, because I found I must 
 know some little science, enough to realise where the 
 difficulties lie, and some historic criticism, and Greek 
 enough for the New Testament, and a great deal 
 more German philosophy. How is it likely that 
 theologians will treat science as seriously as you 
 desire, if scientific students treat theology so super- 
 ficially ? 
 
 When my uncle Henry Sidgwick found that his 
 faith was shaken, he at any rate learnt Hebrew, and 
 read the Old Testament twice through, working 
 under Ewald — so my mother said. But I think 
 those earlier men took things more seriously. 
 
 Dear Stewart, I do care very much more whether 
 you take a worthy line about this, than whether just 
 now you are disturbed by doubts. I don't want you 
 to hush things up, but to go through with it. 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 As to what you say about Christianity not being 
 " demonstrable," I should entirely agree with in 
 one sense, but that mere statement seems to me so 
 superficial and thin. 
 
 324
 
 LETTERS 
 
 {To her Brother Hugh.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 Jan. 13 (1904). 
 
 I am immensely interested by what you say of 
 the way in which RomaniGm Roman Catholicism 
 (how nice of me to correct that) explains other 
 religions. Of course I see that must be in a sense 
 true, because of the very fact that on the other hand 
 the reproach is that it has amalgamated with pagan- 
 ism, and taken up heathen superstition into itself. 
 There is a truth that lies between the two, or is rather 
 indicated by both. 
 
 I must tell you a really good factory-girl story ; 
 to be said in monotone, emphasis and stops only as 
 indicated : 
 
 " Oh Miss Fithefull we've been talking about 
 why it is we likes you so much. It isn't because 
 you're 'andsome because 3^ou're not. And it isn't 
 because you're smart because nobody could say as 
 you were smart. But some'ow you tikes aour fancy 
 and we don't know why." 
 
 I told Beth I was writing and she uttered mystic 
 sentences such as " I needn't tell you what to say." 
 
 {To her Brother Hugh.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 Jan. 2ist, 1904. 
 
 A robin has adopted me ; will nearly eat out 
 of my hand, and has followed me this afternoon 
 
 325
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 from the pine-tree walk to the pavement walk. They 
 are great observers of human nature. 
 
 The frightful kitten has been named Becky 
 Sharp ; as she has sandy hair, green eyes, and an 
 absolutely brazen character. 
 
 {To her Brother Hugh.) 
 
 Endsleigh, 
 
 Penzance. 
 Feb. 12 (1904). 
 
 I am awfully interested about your plans. I 
 don't want yon to be an oblate doing literary work. 
 O don't take any plan which might tend to this. 
 The reasons are partly special and partly general. 
 Special, that surely 370U must be a priest. General, 
 that I don't think even as regards literary work that, 
 as a family, there is sufficient profundity to enable 
 any one safely to do that only. I don't believe in 
 any case the well is deep enough not to need constant 
 replenishment ; otherwise it will either run dry, or 
 thin symbolism will break down. I think there is 
 less originality in us than power of assimilation 
 of material, and reproduction in a new form. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Mullion. 
 
 (1904.) 
 
 Hugh's letters are very astonishing, and oh, 
 how extraordinarily unchanged he is by Rome ! But 
 I could wish that submission to Holy Church hadn't 
 
 326
 
 LETTERS 
 
 begun by " securing our own position before writing 
 for theirs." 
 
 Oh dear, I should like a Retreat. You see at 
 39, if one isn't robust, one does face an epoch of 
 middle-age — and it is single-middle-age, and neces- 
 sarily not active nor very useful (except in those 
 excessively subtle and refined ways in which adver- 
 sity is useful — any way, one is cut off from letting 
 off the steam of morbid moods in hard work). Well, 
 I don't want to walk down the vale of life a fussy, 
 egotistic hypochondriac. 
 
 (7'o her Mother.) 
 
 Mullion. 
 
 (1904.) 
 My Dearest Dearest Mother, 
 
 The time has been so good and this morning 
 was so perfect that there is really not a word to add- 
 but that you just make me realise what the life of 
 the spirit is more than any other person. 
 
 Such a perfect blue warm day with the smell of 
 summer, and we have been sitting and lying out all 
 morning and I have been doing my speech. 
 
 [To her Brother Hugh.) 
 
 Poluirian, 
 
 Mullion. 
 
 ('04.) 
 
 We are at an enchanting place, only since we 
 have been here, last Wednesday, there has been 
 
 327
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 nearly all the time a simply shrieking storm, bursting 
 in at the cracks of closed windows, until we have 
 been forced to make a sort of " tents " with screens 
 inside the room, and sit inside them ; one takes a 
 certain pleasure in it, but no doubt we should enjoy 
 it still more if we could bring ourselves to sit under 
 the table. 
 
 Do you realise that, unless you have given 
 orders to someone else, the upholsterer is still in 
 possession of your cane chair, and that presently 
 it will probably lapse to him by English law ? 
 
 {To her Brother Hugh.) 
 
 Polurrian Hotel, 
 Mullion. 
 March 19 ('04). 
 
 We fell in with an old Evangelical couple at 
 Penzance ; an invalided clergyman and his invalided 
 wife, who make it their business to look after people 
 in any sort of trouble who belong to clerical families. 
 They sent us little books of hymns, cream-cheeses, 
 pats of butter, which came from Bath, and small 
 missionary books called " a doctor and his day in 
 Uganda." Do you know the type — extraordinarily 
 real and genuine, and touching ; with a text book 
 bound in red velvet, instead of a birthday book, 
 in which friends were asked to write texts. 
 
 328
 
 LETTERS 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 
 (1904.) 
 
 I hope Lambeth at least might be possible for 
 Beth. It does her such a lot of good to get a little 
 change. Even if it ends in her deciding, as it always 
 does, that she'll never leave home again. Of course 
 one has to balance that unsatisfied craving for more 
 liberty, against the conviction that the limit is in 
 herself. I mean it may do her more good to believe 
 she can do more than she is allowed to do, than to 
 find that she can't do much more. I don't know. 
 She likes to have something to talk over. 
 
 My best love to her and L. 
 
 Your lovingest daughter, 
 
 M. B. 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 June II. (1904 ?) 
 
 Hugh is back again — very serene and cheerful ; 
 of all people I know he is the most permanently 
 youthful — partly quality, partly defect, I think. 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 July II, 1904. 
 
 I shall try to get mother to Oxford for as much of 
 the intervening time as possible. The meeting 
 promises to be large, over 150 people in the Colleges 
 
 329
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 alone, including some Americans and 3 Germans ; 
 and as there is a strong church party, and as the 
 lecturers include besides clergy, two Wesleyans, one 
 Mansfield College lecturer, a Presbyterian, and some 
 " advanced churchmen " like Conybeare, she will be 
 rather particularly important in making what Hugh 
 would call our " bright unsectarian time " go 
 smoothly. 
 
 [To her Brother Hugh. 
 
 Tremans. 
 Nov. 1 8th. 
 
 Nothing very much is happening here and yet 
 the usual whirlpool of Horsted Keynes appears to 
 go on. 
 
 Mother and I positively went out to lunch at the 
 Freshfields' last Saturday — and it was really like 
 a fairy place — the terraces, and the gate in them 
 just opening on to the valley without perceptible 
 way down, only golden and dark woods climbing 
 up the other side, and where the valley opens at 
 the end, range beyond range of transparent hills. 
 
 We have got a man so typical that he becomes 
 humorous. He proposed that we should pa}^ for 
 a gun licence for him to shoot the rabbits (our 
 rabbits probably in our time) and then enquired, 
 " Shall I have all, or shall we go shares ? " He is 
 so gloomy that it almost makes one hilarious — 
 but the worst is that I am afraid he will hang on 
 like a limpet. He can't drive (which is sometimes 
 desirable for the luggage-cart), he appears never to 
 
 330
 
 LETTERS 
 
 have driven a nail in his whole life long ; he nearly 
 cried because his kitchen ceiling hadn't been white- 
 washed and he might have to move his things. But 
 the worst of it is that he wants to stay. That's the 
 bitter thing. 
 
 A pair of large green woodpeckers flew all about 
 the orchard the day before yesterday. I hope 
 they may wish to stay. Yaffling would be quite a 
 new accomplishment for Matilda.* 
 
 * A grey parrot. 
 
 331
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 At this time I used to keep a Diary which I sent 
 to Tremans, so that they might know what was 
 happening to me, and bargaining that they would 
 keep a similar Diary which should be sent to me. 
 The following extracts were some of Maggie's 
 contributions to the volume. The plan was, unfor- 
 tunately, short-lived. 
 
 {Diary.) 
 
 Dec. 19, 1904, 
 
 Professor Bevan to dinner, very caustic and 
 amusing. I asked what I believed to be an intelligent 
 question as to whether there was any " higher " 
 Mohammedanism. He gave a hoot of laughter 
 and said there were 72 sects. He told a funny story 
 of Duchesne, who had a friend who was writing 
 on Churches in Rome and was warned by the 
 authorities that he must not make too free with the 
 legends, critically ; because the people believed them. 
 " After that," said Duchesne, " he walked about 
 among the legends like a cat among the wine glasses." 
 
 332
 
 A. C. 
 Benson. 
 
 Benson. 
 
 E. F. 
 
 Benson. 
 
 Photo by H. Abbott, Liiidfidd.] 
 
 Maggie 
 Benson. 
 
 1904. 
 
 Mrs. 
 
 Benson. 
 At Trcmans. 
 
 Beth. 
 
 [To face page 332
 
 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 Jan. 5th, '05. 
 
 Mr. Albert Dicey came to lunch with the Bryces, 
 with the childlike smile of one who had decided on 
 an outing, and wished to please and be pleased. 
 He said he liked any street in London better than 
 any place in the country, adding hastily (Mr. Bryce 
 opposite) that it was a nice change ; that the only 
 advantage the country possessed — i.e., that he could 
 walk without looking where he was going — it had 
 lost now owing to motors. But it was a nice change. 
 
 Mullion. 
 
 It was rather a relief to come here, where there 
 is practically nobody else — nothing but cliff and 
 sea. I've been to see Mary Munday, very vivid, full 
 of enthusiasm, and talking about glory ! I gave 
 her the photograph of Papa's grave, she said, " Miss 
 Benson, I do worship things like this, not worship, 
 you know, in one way, but I do 'preciate them, and 
 'tis not the body only, 'tis the soul " — she pointed 
 to his photograph — " oh the soul of it ! " She flamed 
 with enthusiasm describing " how glorious it must 
 be to be rich, to be able to be stewards of God, and 
 be Ministers to those who were to be heirs of Sal- 
 vation." She talks in a kind of rapture, being yy 
 years old and living with a brother on 7s. a week 
 and a little charity. 
 
 Mullion. 
 
 We had a delightful talk with an old fisherman 
 at Mullion one day, a huer who has to blow a 
 trumpet when pilchard " schools " and other shoals 
 are seen. He was very clear in his descriptions of 
 the difficulties about the net fishing, and crab and 
 
 333
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 lobster fishing. He commented on the rising 
 generation ; they are said to be, each generation, 
 " smaller and wiser " than the last. He confirmed 
 the smaller by pointing out his son, but said he was 
 not quite sure about the wiser. The dog-fish are 
 doing so much damage to nets that fishing is stopped 
 in some places. They will have to be blown up with 
 dynamite. 
 
 Tremans. 
 
 We had a splendid mustering of girls yesterday, 
 while rank and fashion came to look on at the 
 inauguration.* It began with a squabble, for at 
 the last moment the old Club would not give up 
 the bats and wickets, as they had promised to do ; 
 but we borrowed some old ones and began merrily. 
 The wickets are about 4 feet high, and the batb 
 small wooden bats. 
 
 Such a curious thing has happened in the garden. 
 On Sunday, walking by two big pots in which small 
 pots of hydrangea were placed, I heard the sharp 
 note of a bird, could not find it anywhere, till stooping 
 down to look at the hydrangea, I saw deep down in 
 the pot 3 yellow beaks of nearly fledged birds — I 
 thought probably tits. So I went away, with a 
 feeling of hidden treasure. On Tuesday I took 
 Aunt Em to see them, but looking in could not see 
 the birds at first, then I saw they were dead, one 
 crouched on the stones, the others fallen over breast 
 upwards. They were tits and nearly fully fledged, 
 just where they had been before. This was so dread- 
 ful somehow that we really couldn't speak of it, and I 
 thought of the little birds probably already beginning 
 
 * Of a " Stool- ball " Club, an old Sussex game. 
 
 334
 
 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 to feel the want of food while I was so carefully 
 stealing away, not to disturb them. Then to-day 
 when Constance came (who knows about birds) I 
 took her there, partly to take away the little bodies, 
 partly to ask her to explain how it happened. My 
 own theory was this — tits have a large nestful — I 
 thought they had led out the strongest and deserted 
 the weakest. 
 
 I took up the pot to see if there had been a nest 
 under ; there was, and in it two wcll-flcdged great 
 tits who flew away, blundered back to us, and then 
 flew up to trees and across the garden, while their 
 parents suddenly appeared on a holly-tree above, 
 and scolded us well. This is more mysterious than 
 ever — but I fancy my first theory was probably 
 right, and that the two birds may have come back 
 after a day or two, during which the 3 had died, 
 (little birds die very easily of hunger) to rest in their 
 old nest. I don't know why I feel that these two 
 healthy birds somehow made up for the three little 
 dead bodies — and yet I am half angry with them too ! 
 
 Birds are very interesting this year. Linnets 
 have appeared, two or three pairs of them, in this 
 garden and elsewhere. Corrie Marshall, cutting the 
 ivy on the wall, found an empty nest which a black- 
 bird had begun to build ; I had seen him at it, where 
 it was well sheltered ; but now the hen is sitting 
 in it, fairly in view, about the height of one's eye ; 
 also in a trained plum-tree near the pavement, a 
 thrush is sitting full in view. There I sat with cat 
 and dog, while she sat a little above, looking down 
 on us. They are very bold, and building everywhere, 
 as fast as the London County Council, following up 
 one nest by another. 
 
 335
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 At Lambeth. 
 
 I believe the general kindliness to animals is 
 improving the relations between animals themselves. 
 As I passed wharf gates in London, a little black 
 cat was lifting up her face to kiss a nice black spaniel. 
 Then in Fred's house his cat walked about with just 
 the same assurance as his dog. 
 
 I stayed at Lambeth for lo days — it is a big 
 going concern one feels, turning out wholesome and 
 Christian relations with all kinds of people and 
 things, on a large scale too, nothing very subtle or 
 mystical or artistic or ecclesiastical about it, but a 
 strong sound influence. 
 
 The Archbishop, whom indeed one only saw at a 
 distance, on Sunday talked on Assyria, — a funny 
 situation ; difficulties created by the Patriarch (aged 
 about 17 or 18) being tiresome about his lessons, 
 and an elderly missionary having too romantic an 
 admiration for the Patriarch's sister, — and our 
 teachers' scheme, for i| hours in the garden, and 
 was quite delightful. 
 
 The position of guests is funny and pleasant, you 
 go about just exactly as you like, go in to lunch 
 without your host and hostess, with a chaplain or 
 secretary and assemble at tea without anybody. 
 
 Archdeacon Watkins was there two evenings 
 with as usual some good stories — a curious one of 
 Lightfoot's inaccuracies, who not only preached but 
 printed a sermon, in which he accounted for the 
 dedication of a church to S. Andrew by saying that 
 as another Church had been dedicated to S. Simon, 
 the founders wished to call it by the name of Zehedee's 
 other son. 
 
 336
 
 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 Tremans. 
 
 July i6. We have had a nice peaceful time at 
 home. Mother and Lucy have been at Lambeth 
 part of the time, and Kitty Lea with her two little 
 boys has been here. The eldest, who last year 
 fished up toys, previously attached to the rod, 
 from the bottom of the lake, this time brought a 
 fishing-rod, and fished for a week unsuccessfully 
 with his nursery maid. Finally came the day when 
 the lake was covered with magnetic fishes and 
 ducks which he got out with a net ; after the first 
 shout he went pretty soberly to work, saying " Rosa 
 is wrong." It appeared that she had said there was 
 nothing in the lake. Then this year (he is 4) came 
 the question how they got there ; he finally decided 
 that they were born as live animals, died, and there- 
 upon became toys. 
 
 Tremans. 
 
 July 25. 
 
 In the course of conversation Mother said she 
 had been told by a girl once that it was supposed 
 that after confession of serious wrongdoing, in order 
 to be restored to communion, the penitent must eat 
 7 lbs. of hay. 
 
 Tremans. 
 
 July 26. 
 
 Beth came to say good-night, and found me 
 looking at the papers, and reproved me, " You'll 
 get thinking about it and not go to sleep." " Do 
 you ? " " Yes, if I hear things and get thinking 
 about them." " What sort of things ? " "If they 
 are behaving so quarrelsome in Parliament, or bad 
 
 337 z
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 people are killing each other." Imagine the old 
 darling lying awake over a vote of want of confi- 
 dence ! 
 
 Tremans. 
 Aug. 2. 
 
 Arthur and Edie here. Arthur was talking 
 about Mark Pattison to-night, so I am going to 
 record here my only sight of him. When I first 
 went to Oxford, I was sitting in the garden with 
 my tame goldfinch, which as usual was attracting 
 other goldfinches. Miss Wordsworth wheeled into 
 the garden an old man with a drawn parchmenty 
 face, and brought him up to me and left us. He 
 made some amiable and pretty remark about the 
 Madonna and the goldfinch, and talked pleasantly 
 to me about birds as far as I remember — a quaint 
 incident and pleasant, as one's only sight of a bitter 
 and cynical man. 
 
 Tremans. 
 Thurs. 
 
 Mrs. Mylne went. Lucy to London. Mother to 
 Croydon to see Hutchy and a spiritualist. The 
 spiritualist walked back with her to Croydon, and 
 described Papa walking on one side of her, a French 
 Abbe (Hugh's " guide ") — apparently wearing his 
 name and date 1732 on a label — between them, and 
 Zola in front. 
 
 Tremans. 
 
 Miss Hodgson described how her great-aunt 
 was doing lessons with Miss Croker the adopted 
 daughter of the first Lord of the Admiralty on the 
 day of Queen Victoria's accession. The Queen 
 
 338
 
 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 came in and said " Miss All worth, I am Queen of 
 England, and I wish my first present to be to you. 
 What shall it be ? I shall rule my kingdom on 
 Bible principles, so I will go out into High Street, 
 Kensington, and buy you a Bible." She did so, 
 and wrote in it " Victoria Regina, 1837." That 
 Bible is bequeathed to Miss Hodgson. 
 
 I had 3 pleasant days in bed — my room is so 
 delicious for being laid up in — with the walnut-tree 
 and the pines opposite in the da3'', or the fire flickering 
 in the two queer recesses at evening, and the long 
 panelled cupboard by me, and all sorts of reminis- 
 cences in sketches, Greek and Egyptian figures and 
 vases, of all sorts of places. 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Old Palace, 
 
 Canterbury. 
 
 Nov. 27. 
 
 The Dog improves even on his first fascinating 
 appearance. On the second day he was left alone 
 in the garden and therefore went at once to the 
 station, which was very sensible. I find Roderick 
 Dhu is one of the pedigree names, and Roderick 
 is near enough to Rover to be no shock. I sent 
 his " ransom " when he came, as it appears to be 
 the novel plan. If you can imagine a dog as being 
 like a faun in grace of attitude, and a certain timid 
 air of good breeding — that is what he is like. But 
 I hope he will be thoroughly at home by the time 
 you come back. 
 
 339
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 {To her Brother Hugh.) 
 
 Falmouth, 
 Jan. 21, '05. 
 
 So many thanks about the hymns and the severity 
 of your strictures. It seems to me there is no subject 
 about which people are narrower than hymns — why 
 not sing Meditation sometimes ? I'll print " medi- 
 tation " at the top if you like. Many of the Psalms 
 are subjective, so are the majority of favourite 
 anthems ; and the opposite of caviare and sardines 
 is not farinaceous food necessarily, but proper 
 wholesome meat. 
 
 Will you give Arthur, Fred and me the suggested 
 presents ? Did you like mine to you ? because you 
 haven't mentioned it. You needn't have it if you 
 don't care for it. I feel this is coarse but necessary. 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Falmouth. 
 Feb. 26th (1905). 
 
 The warm feeling of this place is quite delightful, 
 even if it is sometimes a little trying to be asked to 
 a tea.-party — I mean party, the}^ exist here — every 
 day in the week. I like the Quakers so much ; I 
 have been to their meeting this morning ; and also 
 round Mr. Fox's garden, and had robin after robin 
 told to come to my hand for crumbs ; each eyed my 
 fur coat, and obeyed his voice. 
 
 340
 
 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 i {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 MuUion. 
 April 3rd, '05. 
 
 Mother is joining us here on Monday. My 
 chief occupation is being here until it is warm enough 
 to go home. Her occupation is settUng the church 
 affairs in Truro ; she is going back for a night or 
 two presently to finish settling them. We have been 
 in Truro also for two days, and really the Cathedral 
 is very beautiful, and beautifies the whole beautiful 
 place. With the hills and the Fal and the tender 
 colouring of the country, and the creamy colouring 
 of the Cathedral, it is all so unique. Do go down 
 there some day ! 
 
 I have been reading your diary again with great 
 interest ; but why have you ceased to ornament the 
 outside ? 
 
 Your fatalist doctrine about depression surprises 
 me. I had always thought of it as a thing that one 
 was eminently called upon to treat, both physically 
 and mentally. But then my depression makes me 
 so extremely disagreeable. Of course when one was 
 strong, change of scene and exercise were natural 
 and easy remedies ; and one of the worst parts of 
 being ill was being cut oft from that remedy, as one 
 had generally to rest, instead of doing anything to 
 change the current of thought — and of course was 
 dependent on the people who surrounded one. I 
 remember the sickening, imprisoned feeling of 
 desiring solitude, and knowing that one was abso- 
 lutely dependent on the people with whom depression 
 made one nervously at cross-purposes. I think it 
 is through that sort of thing that one finds how 
 
 341
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 egotistic it is ; and egotistic on one string — the 
 evils of life — and that the only radical cure is a 
 radical change of centre ; just as the only cure at 
 the time is a change in the centre of thought. 
 
 One can't help it by direct argument very often, 
 because, after all, things arc quite as bad as one 
 can imagine them ; but then they are also quite as 
 good as one can imagine them. I mean each line 
 of thought radiates infinitely, and you can follow 
 it infinitely if you choose. It is in itself true, but 
 it is not true in proportion to the whole. 
 
 " All the earth is full of darkness and cruel 
 habitation " was one of the things which used to 
 ring in my head — and of course it is undeniable, as 
 long as you choose to follow out that line of thought 
 alone. But the contrary is also true, and whereas 
 one cannot combat the first negatively, because it 
 cannot truly be denied, one can fling oneself on the 
 other stream of thought which cuts across it. 
 
 I fear this is hardly lucid, — but I am not at all 
 expert in practice. 
 
 {To her Brother Hugh.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 April 15th. 
 
 I have a gorgeous story of a dream dreamt in 
 Horsted Keynes by one of the village people, owing, 
 she says, to Mama's " not getting a look in " with the 
 psalms now, as they have them sung not said ; but 
 " it did use to be a race," she said. 
 
 342
 
 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 {To her Brother Hugh.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 
 (1905) 
 
 . . . We have been reading the King's Achieve- 
 ment out loud ; and I do think it a much better book 
 than I had remembered : it's beautifully written — a 
 pleasure to read ; and either you have improved 
 it very much in concentration, or it was not so inver- 
 tebrate as I thought. Still it has faults, and I 
 don't think it so good as the others — it's not so 
 engaging, though Beatrice is really very fine indeed, 
 and really I do give you credit for understanding 
 the way in which women can be friends. So few 
 people do understand, and I can't remember any 
 man, a novelist, who does. 
 
 Beth wished me to say that she thought some of 
 the people were very unkind and " crewel " ; but 
 sometimes they were very kind and loving, and 
 altogether it ended better than she expected ; but 
 she does wish you would write a book about people 
 who were less disagreeable with one another. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Lambeth Palace. 
 
 (? 1905) 
 
 Isn't this an amusing American letter, that 
 I may " know the effect of Papa's life work on Mr. 
 M'Cosh " — but they were very disarming people, 
 and talked so enthusiastically and affectionately 
 of him and of you. 
 
 343
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 I am staying in bed a good deal this morning, 
 like a good girl. It's a queer independent life here — I 
 feel anyone might quite easily be lost like the cow 
 in the Winter Palace — and I'm enjoying it hugely, 
 please tell L. After all her exertions, I feel a mere 
 pauper, as I stir no hand even to help with cards, 
 like the little American girls, and I merely fill up 
 the room of better people. But as I am here this 
 time, I'm going to enjoy it. 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 May 1 6th, 1905. 
 
 The Queen's book is quite astonishing, but it 
 seems all so complete, is so harmonious — I mean 
 shows so well and consistently the development of 
 her mind and character, of relations public and 
 private, and relations to people, that I don't believe 
 you'll half get the credit of selection. People will 
 say " these were obviously the most important 
 letters," and won't realise selection at all. 
 
 She seems to one " docile " in the most perfect 
 sense — knowing from whom to learn — passing on 
 from one to another, re-acting upon her teaching, 
 so as to grow beyond her teachers as a docile person 
 should. 
 
 Some of the family really must emigrate, or 
 English literature will be flooded. 
 
 The Mission here has begun ; Beth, a kitchenmaid 
 
 344
 
 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 and I were the only people left in the house last 
 night. Again this afternoon the house emptied 
 itself, and two wailing children were brought in, 
 so that their mothers might go to the service. Beth 
 soon produced peace. 
 
 {To S. A. McDowall. 
 
 Tremans. 
 (September 2, 1905.) 
 
 Here I am in the shelter with 13 turkeys walking 
 about, and several chickens, much out of their 
 proper sphere, scratching in front. 
 
 Mother and Hugh have just passed me to go a 
 walk, Hugh in flowing cassock with a cigarette and 
 the very oldest shoes I ever saw ; the sort you find 
 washed up on the sea beach. As he has just received 
 £75 advanced royalties on two books which won't 
 be published till next year, I told him this should 
 not be, but he said it was " right." 
 
 His second novel (Henry VIII.) is coming out 
 now ; in 1906, The Hermit, a Henry VI. book, 
 and a Queen Mary book ; in 1907, a Charles II. 
 book ; and he is beginning to plan another ! 
 
 In between Fred with his terrier and his friends, 
 and Hugh with his old shoes and his friends, we have 
 had Arthur with his friends going on all the time, 
 among them two elderly and visionary Eton Masters 
 — a nice contrast to the rest. 
 
 What else ? Beth had her 87th birthday. I've 
 
 345
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 got a new pigeon-cote, square, on a pole, painted 
 white with a green roof. Roddy has learnt to 
 sneeze. 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 Sept. 14th. 
 
 And now — this is the only point for answer, and 
 then not unless you wish. 
 
 You are, I know, a fellow-believer in the advisa- 
 bility of saying frankly, if one thinks there may 
 have been a shadow of vexation, " Was there any- 
 thing wrong, and if so can it be put right ? " Long 
 ago, about 1898 or 99, you and I wrote frankly to 
 one another, and things have been different — in- 
 creasingly dear and intimate ever since. You have 
 so accustomed us to increasing serenity and happiness 
 at home lately that perhaps one takes too seriously 
 the little shadow of depression that was on you the 
 last days at home. It may have been just a passing 
 mood that all of us are subject to, but if anything 
 was wrong that could be put right, do tell me. If 
 not, one word on a postcard will be enough to set 
 one's mind at rest. 
 
 {Diary.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 Nov. 25th, 1905. 
 
 I read a Daniel lesson with Beth the other 
 Sunday ; at the end she said she had never liked 
 Daniel. " Why not ? " Oh it was so dreadful, 
 
 346
 
 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 she had never liked it even when she was a girl. 
 " What did she like then ? " Oh, about the babies 
 —Jesus Christ and John. " And Moses ? " Nettie 
 suggested. She was not sure of that. She was 
 afraid Moses was rather ungrateful to Pharaoh's 
 daughter who had brought him up, when he went 
 away from Egypt. I suggested that after all his 
 mother had been his nurse. Yes, but she thought 
 that was rather deceitful. Then I urged that, 
 after all, the Israelites hadn't much opportunity 
 for being grateful, considering the way Rameses 
 behaved. " Yes," she said, " they was just as 
 disagreeable one to another in them days as now." 
 
 To be disagreeable one to another is the worst 
 
 condemnation — or " there isn't so much love in " 
 
 " She's so kind and loving," is highest praise. 
 
 Then she heard the second lesson, with eagerness, 
 and said, " Qh, if people only would follow that 
 example." It is beautiful reading to her, she has 
 such rapt attention, and says sometimes, as in the 
 epistle, " Yes, yes," quite unconsciously. 
 
 [To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 Dec. 21, 1905. 
 
 I shan't get much time probably for writing 
 to-day. Lucy left before dawn, and Mother and I 
 are together alone till dinner. We are going to 
 read a text-book on local government by way of 
 refreshment . . . We both want to know about 
 it . . . Since beginning this I have been out for a 
 walk with Mother, after we had read about municipal 
 boroughs and urban districts ; and we looked at 
 
 347
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 a futile traction-engine which got stuck, and dis- 
 cussed sacerdotalism and the R. C. Church and 
 people's characters. 
 
 {To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 Dec. 29, 1905. 
 
 I want to write more about your letter, but I 
 have had such an absurd morning that I can't. 
 This was the order or disorder of it — 
 
 8.30. Mother came in, before going to London 
 with Lucy for the day. 
 
 9. Beth, conversation about shortcomings of 
 the cook, especially what was done with some 
 sausages. 
 
 10.15. While I had my hair done, my mother's 
 maid came in much gloom about the Stool-ball 
 Club's entertainment. 
 
 10.30. Coachman. Acute crisis about new horse. 
 Then to cook with tactful and leading questions and 
 suggestions. 
 
 II. To Arthur and my aunt, when there came a 
 stream of telegrams so that the boy who brought one 
 carried away four, and another arrived directly 
 after. 
 
 11.45. Began my book ; lire, sofa and bedroom. 
 
 11.50. Nurse for an interview, in the middle of 
 which came Arthur about a book. 
 
 Back to my room and book. 
 
 12.15. Midday letters. Horse crisis more acute ; 
 up to Arthur about the other book, and back to my 
 room. 
 
 12.30. My aunt to say one telegram hadn't gone, 
 
 348
 
 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 consequent rush downstairs. Back to book and 
 room. 
 
 12.45. Stool-ball entertainment crisis more acute. 
 Back to book. Then a message from the cook. 
 
 I. Beth to say she wouldn't interrupt me. Back 
 to book till 1.20— and there's the gong for lunch. 
 
 And since then another telegram ; and the black- 
 smith's daughter on the Stool-ball Club crisis. I 
 fear T do rather waste time in small ways ! 
 
 {To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 
 One of the F s and some friends have just been 
 
 in to tea. I haven't made any way with them. Did 
 I tell you about them ? With every appearance of 
 unreserve, they have got a strong Scotch barrier 
 well down in front. I tried to open it up with 
 patterns of dresses to-day, as they confessed to 
 crying about their clothes if they didn't fit ; but 
 though it roused a feverish energy?' and gained me 
 many suggestions, I got no further. 
 
 {To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 
 I'm beginning to have a good deal of quiet time 
 to myself. My Aunt Nora sometimes sits with me 
 in the shelter and works too ... I don't generally 
 stay out after 3.30, and in the time I am out, I have 
 been by myself feeding robins, and looking after 
 cats. Another cat, whom I had invariably dis- 
 couraged firmly, came and sat on my knee the other 
 
 349
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 day with such serene mtention that I gave in. Then 
 I'm in my room till 5, and try to get away early 
 after tea, because I am really wanting to read and 
 write now . . . That is an ideal scheme, but it is 
 generally broken in upon somewhere or other, as 
 e.g., by decorations on Saturday, and by carols on 
 
 Christmas Day evening, and to-day by Miss . 
 
 I am resisting evening attractions, even a carol 
 service in Church, and even a very long entertainment 
 which depressed Mother and Lucy and my aunt a 
 good deal yesterday, while Arthur and I stayed at 
 home and talked about his book. 
 
 (To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 
 I have written 2 letters about the nurse, not 
 about boots however. But I find that the burning 
 subject now is whether she can possibly keep a tin 
 box (quite a nice one) with dressings in it in her 
 sitting-room. 
 
 There are really a lot of nursing things just now, 
 but they aren't all boots and bicycles and boxes 
 though there are some of those still (there's another 
 box, you see, besides the tin box, but even that is 
 arranged for now). For instance, besides the finance 
 which is serious, and the intricate relations with 
 
 A , there come such questions as who is to 
 
 read to a man who has been in bed since February 
 and can't read ; of a girl (then apparently dying 
 and now recovering) sent back in a really neglected 
 state from a Cottage Hospital, and a vigorous 
 reforming lady who is ready to take the matter up. 
 
 350
 
 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 After all illness reaches into people's lives more 
 quickly than anything else. I wish you thought 
 more of the body. You are very unorthodox, and 
 I shall ask the Bishop of Gibraltar to make you write 
 an essay on (rw/ma and aap^, 
 
 [A later letter.] 
 
 See what comes of not attending sufficiently 
 to the weaknesses of human nature ! I suppose 
 it never occurred to you that the reforming lad}' 
 might be the wife of the radical candidate, and the 
 chief subscriber the cousin of the Conservative 
 Member ; and where would be the good of arranging 
 who should clean the boots if there was no money to 
 pay for the cleaning ? 
 
 You see in such an arrangement — 
 
 (i) Nurses and doctors quarrel (especially London 
 nurses and country doctors). 
 
 (2) Subscribers may quarrel, but ours don't, 
 because they aren't on the Committee, and have 
 nothing to do with management. 
 
 (3) Lodgers quarrel with landladies, about boots 
 for instance. 
 
 Now you see Mother is the serenest person really 
 for the centre of management, so it's really essential 
 that one of us should be her secretary when she is 
 at home, and her proxy when she is away. If she 
 had to write to the reformer to tell her to come over 
 3 miles, whenever boots or boxes were in trouble, it 
 wouldn't save her much. 
 
 351
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 Wednesday. 
 
 Beth is getting on capitally and so delighted 
 with your letters and proud of hearing so often from 
 you. We finished Paul together with " How can 
 they think of such beautiful stories ! " and, " How 
 different from when we first heard of him when he 
 was a little boy." It is very touching and full of 
 meaning. I found it difficult to finish reading it 
 aloud. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Myr Hall, 
 
 Torquay. 
 March i (1906). 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 Your long letter was delightful. Indeed 
 I wasn't deceiving the Crystalclear one. It is 
 only her own Crystalclearness that makes her 
 suspect the least shadow of deceit in others. But 
 I'm really feeling remarkably well, and getting good 
 time if not rapid progress with B. W.* Nettie is 
 really a good deal better. She has begun teaching 
 Molly and Baby Bible. 
 
 I am going with her to the Electrical doctor this 
 morning. He described his household as " a nest 
 of Benson worshippers." 
 
 The children are such fun. They bring me old 
 letters, done up and marked immediate, every 
 morning, which have to contain agitating news. 
 * B. W. = Benson's Works, i.e. The Venture of Rational Faith.
 
 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 My imagination having dealt with financial ruin, 
 diamond mines, rocs, etc., they are now taking it 
 up themselves, and have just sent me a letter through 
 the post, dictated by themselves, and describing 
 all kinds of untoward secrets. 
 
 You won't forget the Kissmi, will you ; the other 
 one is being kissed to death. Small sets of presents 
 are brought to me every day ; this morning I was 
 imprisoned in the corner of my room and guarded 
 by an excessively ferocious Moor and a Turk, with 
 contorted faces and hoarse voices. Happily they 
 were moved to have a dance in the passage, and 
 I got my door locked, and was enabled to finish 
 dressing. 
 
 {To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 Torquay. 
 March 4, 1906. 
 
 N. and I are sitting out on the verandah on a 
 really delicious afternoon, with the blue tits hanging 
 and dangling on a bone hung on an arch in front of 
 us ; there were three together just now. We have 
 been branching out from Driver, and reading Amos 
 and Hosea in their proper places. I find I can cull 
 a little from Burney in spite of the Hebrew, but oh ! 
 
 I must learn Hebrew — in the autumn when B. W. 
 is done or surrendered, as I think it must be : 
 indeed I did intend to settle one way or the other 
 by the autumn, and if it still hangs on without 
 success I shall give it up for good, but I am doing 
 
 I I hours at it every day at present .... 
 
 353 2 A
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 March i6, 1906, 
 
 I am sending back your diary, which has inter- 
 ested me quite particularly. I do know so very 
 well that kind of depression, and I have just begun 
 to realise the impossibility of getting out of it by 
 following out the same train of thought and trying 
 to urge it to a happier conclusion. Just as every- 
 thing in the world is really (like Tennyson's " flower 
 in the crannied wall ") the centre of an infinite 
 world, so every point may be the centre point of 
 an infinite happiness or misery, and the best correc- 
 tion comes by turning to one of the other infinite 
 centres — in other words by a sense of proportion. 
 Don't you think this is to some extent true ? — 
 perhaps trite. 
 
 {To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 Torquay. 
 March 18. '06. 
 
 One of the best things that you can do for me is 
 to show me how infinitesimal small worries are, and 
 how great the things are all around one. That is what 
 one wants more and more, to live in the large things 
 — love, and the Goodness of God and other people, 
 and the beauty of the world and its interest — yet 
 all these one takes too much as a matter of course. 
 I want new eyes and ears and a new heart. That's 
 all just now. Some time I should like a new body. 
 
 354
 
 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 {To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 Torquay. 
 March 20, 1906. 
 
 I think what you say about the fluctuation of 
 enjoyment is very true ; but I do think also that one 
 allows anxiety and worry and morbidities to rob 
 one of enjoyment unnecessarily, because when any 
 people — Quietists or Salvation Army or Christian 
 Scientists — resolutely set their minds on living on 
 the other side of things, they do succeed. The 
 Christian Scientists' success is purchased by much 
 loss, I know ; but I don't think it's all necessarily 
 purchased by loss. 
 
 {To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 Seaton. 
 March 30, igo6. 
 
 Have you read Maarten Maartens' The Healers P 
 There is an elderly lady there who spends her whole 
 life in writing an epic about Balaam. It reminds me 
 dismally of myself and B. W. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Seaton. 
 April 1st (1906). 
 
 This is such a jolly place ; I've been enjoy- 
 ing it immensely. We went over to Lyme Regis — a 
 really enchanting place, where one could have done 
 endless sketches later in the year ; and we none of 
 us jumped down steps nor got concussion of the 
 brain on the Cobb.* It looked quite as if all those 
 
 * The reference ib to Jane Austen's Persuasion. 
 
 355
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 people might have been going about still. Here 
 there are two good sketches, if I could have time 
 and sun to do them, just outside the door ; and 
 another enchanting one lo minutes away. Yester- 
 day we rowed over a perfectly calm and perfectly 
 transparent sea, with gardens of sea-weed and 
 aquamarine patches down below, and gulls sitting 
 on low rocks and looking at you, round a chalk 
 cliff which looked like a cathedral which had acci- 
 dentally got incorporated into a hillside, to smugglers' 
 caves, with an old boatman whose grandfather had 
 died with £100 worth of smuggled goods on his 
 back, and whose sympathies were entirely with the 
 smugglers. And in them were three kinds of gulls ; 
 some which said " Oh " and some which said " Ha 
 ha ha " and some which mewed. 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Seaton. 
 April 3, '06. 
 
 I am so much interested in your letter to the 
 Bishop, and the subsequent meeting — but oh what 
 a dreadful pity it is that the Clergy are like the 
 Church of England ; so " stodgy." The Dean 
 gave us years ago, when we were starting the 
 S. Paul Association, the strongest advice, not to 
 put it under the clergy in any way ; and we have 
 been so glad of it ever since. I do believe the best 
 plan with them is to begin a thing quite indepen- 
 dently ; then they wake up and see that something 
 is going forward, and hurry up fearing othenvise 
 that they will get left out. 
 
 356
 
 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 I did not mention my health because it is really 
 all right, and I no longer feel like a piece of old 
 and frayed elastic. 
 
 How nice your conditions of work sound ! Aren't 
 you enjoying it, now that the writing and teach- 
 ing and sociability all fit in without overlapping 
 too much ? 
 
 I hope you get on with the book as quickly and 
 smoothly as you could hope, which always seems 
 to me both more quickly and smoothly than anyone 
 else could hope ! 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 April 3 (1906). 
 
 If one has any more or less permanent disability, 
 one wants it to be as little of a barrier as possible 
 to normal life. It is like a poor person living among 
 rich. To have the poverty always in mind would 
 really make a barrier — what one wants is a lighter 
 touch, no pressure, a feeling of freedom, not the 
 weight of feeling that if one doesn't talk others are 
 wondering if it is vexation or something. Just as 
 one would put the poverty out of consciousness, and 
 let the poorer person slip in or out of plans with 
 freedom. 
 
 {To Miss Beatrice Layman.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 
 (1906.) 
 
 By the way, my dear Wesleyan hymn-book has 
 a hymn of Wesley's very most Wesleyan kind, which 
 
 357
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 I'm personally trying to lay to heart. I'll show it 
 you all when I see you — but this especially : 
 
 " Mollify our harsher will. 
 Each to each our tempers suit 
 By Thy modulating skill. 
 Heart to heart, as lute to lute. 
 Sweetly on our spirits move. 
 Gently touch the trembling strings. 
 Make the harmonies of love 
 Music for the King of Kings." 
 
 I am really all right and extremely well — but 
 what with brothers and their works a little tired. 
 The second goes to-day alas — but the 3rd comes on 
 Monday. l<i. wonderfully better. 
 
 {To a friend.) 
 
 61, Egerton Gardens, S.W. 
 
 April 13 (1906). 
 
 I hope my writing on this envelope is suffi- 
 ciently like Gladys' now. But I think it rather rude 
 of you to say that I may write like her, but she may 
 not write like me. That's because my writing is 
 " shabby and illegible " I suppose ? 
 
 I meant to write more at length than I can. I've 
 been to the three hours' service, and I'm stupid and 
 tired. But I wanted to send you one line for Easter. 
 I was glad of your letter. I don't think I had really 
 thoroughly understood till just lately what you meant 
 by going to the bottom of things. I wonder why you 
 are reading Westcott's S. John and the study of the 
 Gospels, — I should think they were very depressing, — 
 I simply cannot remember what Westcott says in that 
 book, it makes no groove in my mind at all, but just 
 passes over it. 
 
 Yours, M. B. 
 
 358
 
 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 April 22, '06. 
 
 In one way this odd outburst of books, in an 
 unmarrying family, is better than marriage. After 
 all, marriage generally does loosen the original family 
 tie, whereas here — at any rate with you and Hugh, 
 who express yourselves and not the reflection of 
 your environment in your books — one gets to know 
 you in a double way, by a sort of second channel. 
 And with you especially, as the years go on, and with 
 real happiness and gratitude, I seem to know you 
 continually better. So I do through your books 
 seem to understand a part which could not and should 
 not be too much expressed in daily life, but which 
 enlightens us all. 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 April 28th, '06, 
 
 I was so very grateful for your most delight- 
 ful letter. When you are so sympathetic and so en- 
 couraging, it makes one feel that one must make the 
 effort to do as you urge, though I greatly fear now 
 that the result can only be disappointing to myself 
 and to any one who is so kind about it as you are. 
 I have (and it is the third time of writing) got about 
 half the book written, but I fear it gets duller as I get 
 
 359
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 older, and though I try to learn more, I don't get 
 expert, but only less positive and more serious — less 
 spirited, because the thing is large and more difficult 
 than one thinks when one is young. 
 
 If I did work really 2 hours a day at that, it 
 would be all I could do, or should wish to do, but the 
 " petty dust " seems to choke one's movements, even 
 on days that should be clear. 
 
 And many of the things that hinder are the 
 dearest and most precious things in life. I wonder 
 if you know how great an element in life is made by 
 the growing intimacy with you, in being able through 
 the diaries and the books to follow so much of your 
 life and thought. I don't speak of the charm and 
 interest of what you call your " sentimental volumes," 
 which give one an aspect of the world, a sweetness 
 in homely things which is of such peculiar value to 
 any one whose tether is so short owing to health, and 
 who wants to see the little things sweetly, and yet 
 to look out through windows you make to many varied 
 scenes, and into different lives. If I can't read 
 " Beside Still Waters " before you want it back, I 
 may perhaps see it later when it is more fully 
 grown, for the chapter you read seems to me more 
 mature and more sympathetic than anything you 
 have written yet. 
 
 The Queen's life is wonderful and I am glad I may 
 go on slowly with it. But it is awful work suggesting 
 cuts. Everything is so telling, and it is mere des- 
 peration generally which makes one suggest that 
 any one thing is just less interesting than the other. 
 
 What an unexpected and splendid character for 
 a Queen — that little straight intelligent vigorous girl, 
 with enough appetite for pleasure to be healthy, and 
 
 360
 
 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 enough sense of duty for a regiment, and a warm and 
 simple heart, and the dignity of reality. 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Alverton, 
 Truro. 
 May 3, '06, 
 
 It does seem difficult, to look into the looking- 
 glass and directly into one's friends' faces. Can't 
 be done without self-consciousness, unless it is done 
 really privately. To look at one's own, and their 
 photographs of some years ago, is free from this, and 
 allows a rapid comparison with the present. 
 
 This is a most quiet sweet place, with silence in the 
 house and birds singing rampantly outside, and 
 reposeful Sisters who smile at you in passing. 
 
 {To her Brother Hugh.) 
 
 61, Egerton Gardens, S.W. 
 May nth, igo6. 
 
 Mr. P sent me his story. It is a good story 
 
 and very smartly written, I thought ; he asked for 
 criticisms, but there really was hardly anything 
 except one thing that he really could not alter — 
 rather too hard a hand — too definite, too little 
 indicative. If it were a sketch, one would put a 
 good wash of water over his background. 
 
 361
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 (To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Barton Street, 
 May 13, '06. 
 
 I have been in the sisterhood at Alverton for the 
 last fortnight — it was wonderfully delightful — a 
 silent house and a garden /w// of birds. Woodpeckers 
 build there, a Kingfisher lives there, and I heard 
 reports of what might have been a hoopoe. 
 
 On Sunday they had a quiet day and (though I 
 went out to lunch, not being included) I didn't speak 
 to a single Sister till 8.30 p.m., when the Ex-Mother 
 broke through her silence and came to talk to me. 
 I loved all the quietness and the silent meals with " a 
 good grave book " read out loud. I did a little of my 
 philosophical book, and read a certain amount. 
 Our " biblical study " plans involve a certain amount 
 of business. What worries me is that if you profess 
 a desire and urge the necessity of study — people 
 suppose you therefore know — and particularly that 
 you know the books they have read themselves. 
 That is foolish. 
 
 362
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE SHADOW 
 
 Maggie was now living a full and interesting life at 
 Tremans, with many companionships and activities. 
 But about this time a shadow seems to have begun 
 to creep over her mind. She had moods, which came 
 and went, of great depression ; she lost heart easily, 
 and began to attach an undue importance to matters 
 which in old days she would have taken serenely 
 enough. There were periods when my mother was 
 almost alarmed by her insistence on some small 
 detail, and her tendency to recur to certain lines of 
 thought ; she became, too, strangely nervous and 
 particular about matters affecting her health. Still 
 she hid this all to a great extent in her own mind, 
 and fought bravely against her dreary moods ; and 
 I for one had really no idea that there was anything 
 seriously amiss with her. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 May 1 6, 1906. 
 
 Here I am back again from a peaceful 2 days 
 with Beatrice, and oh the place is sweet ; everything 
 
 363
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 looking feathery and soft and clean and peaceful 
 with the new foliage and herbage : and the garden 
 looking well ; Roddy screaming welcome ; Beth as 
 glad to get us back as to see us go ; 15 young turkeys, 
 10 new young chickens, 2 lady pigeons sitting, 5 
 black ducklings (only they are mixed) ; blossom out ; 
 but hail coming down in showers every now and 
 then. 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 May 17, '06. 
 
 Yes, life is more interesting as one gets older, and 
 personally I feel as if one were steering again into 
 serener seas. You see, unlike you, I had such an 
 extraordinarily happj^ time from my school days, 
 through College years, and the beginning of my 
 growing up, and then things seemed to crash — though 
 I wouldn't now have been without the troubled times. 
 I don't think I ever deliberately wanted an un- 
 troubled life. So here we are in the afternoon — a 
 very sweet one, I do think, and not least in the way we 
 seem to draw together again, for I remember so well, 
 what you of course must have forgotten, my early 
 pride in a certain preference you sometimes had for 
 me — a forced preference very likely, for Nellie and 
 Martin in those Wellington days paired off sometimes 
 — but it was very dear to me no less. One thing I 
 desire is to want some day to die; I never have wanted 
 it, but I should like " to lay me down with a will " 
 to feel as I (being a good sailor you see) feel when I 
 
 364
 
 THE SHADOW 
 
 know there's nothing much between me and the sea 
 and the sky at night. 
 
 {To her Brother Hugh.) 
 
 Trcmans. 
 May 20, 
 
 My dearest Hugh, 
 
 It's ages since I had your letter, and the reasons 
 I haven't answered it are various. In the first place, 
 as you know, I went into a sisterhood for a fortnight, 
 and liked it very much indeed. It was the sweetest 
 place — large, airy, soothing rooms without much in 
 them, and quiet dinners, and a garden where S. 
 Francis might have had quite as various a congre- 
 gation of birds as in the Arundel picture. 
 
 Then I came home, and oh it's perfect here, all 
 the starry sort of flowers are out like white clematis 
 and forget-m.e-not ; do you know the sort of powdery 
 look of spring, when all the leaves too are in little 
 knots on the boughs — and the grey parrot and Joey 
 and the peacock and the kitten sit at the kitchen 
 door — with the bantams close by — the cock bantam 
 and the peacock had a duel the other day, and had 
 to be separated. Even Roderick is getting rather 
 nice. 
 
 One thing you promised about communities 
 I didn't find in the sisterhood. They weren't light- 
 hearted. Do you think that impression of light- 
 heartedness is external ? What about accidie ? 
 
 Beth is much better, though not quite herself. 
 I'm going to take her a little jaunt down to Canterbury 
 
 365
 
 IVIAGGIE BENSON 
 
 for two nights and then to Lambeth — by that time 
 she will be frantic to come home again, and will then 
 settle to " think about your coming," till you come, 
 and plan and make surprises. 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Grosvenor Crescent Club. 
 June 1 6, '06. 
 
 It does sweeten life, and keep one's relations with 
 people full of warm and pleSiSSLnt feeling to get letters 
 like yours sometimes. You can't fail to know what 
 enjoyment is given me by things you call " kind- 
 nesses," and that you feel it so adds pleasure again. 
 
 You tell me to ask for something that I want. 
 There is one thing I should like very much. I do 
 want to begin sketching again, and find myself like 
 Earl Harold — 
 
 " The rust had eaten his harness bright 
 And the rats had eaten his greyhound light." 
 
 There is a drawing-board which stretches water- 
 colour paper with the least possible trouble to oneself, 
 by means of a hinged piece working in a flat frame. 
 You know how much more one can do if preparations 
 are easy, and I should like a board like that, particu- 
 larly from you who have encouraged my drawing 
 from Lambeth days onwards. 
 
 I go back home to-morrow to find A estab- 
 lished there, revelling in a really full flow of other 
 people's iniquities, and able to " pity " them, which 
 affords her intense satisfaction. Beth was better 
 when I came ; but she is more frail than she used to 
 be, and much more easily cries when one goes away. 
 
 366
 
 THE SHADOW 
 
 One feels we musn't all be away, if we can help it, 
 more than a day or two at most. 
 
 {To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 June 30, 1906. 
 
 There's nothing the matter except tiredness. I 
 am a little tired still. In fact I feel I shall have to 
 relinquish a good deal a certain tattered remnant of 
 pride that I retain, and not mind so much if I can't 
 carry out things that I begin to do, and if I seem to 
 fail you rather just when I should like to help. I 
 feel sure we shall get the most we can out of things 
 if I plan to do things with you, that I may not 
 ultimately be able to do. Of course if I can't do 
 them, it comes rather hardly upon you. And it is 
 disappointing to me ; but, for myself, I've learned 
 that it is the better way, and that one can take 
 disappointments of that kind fairly lightly if one 
 allows for the possibility. 
 
 {To her Brother A rthur.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 July 18, *o6. 
 
 We have two really nice babies in the house. 
 One of 3 years and one of six months old. The 
 younger practically never cries, and generally looks 
 as if he had been designed as a symbol of Innocence, 
 
 367
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 or Dependence, or Childhood. The elder reminds 
 me always of the child in the Story without an End. 
 Not that he is like the pictures — he is far prettier — 
 but has the same look of romance and mysteriousness 
 which the pictures somehow conveyed to us, and 
 utter suitability to the place — even when he is really 
 only speculating on whether I have any chocolates 
 in some concealed pocket. 
 
 {To Miss Gourlay.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 Aug. 21, 1906. 
 
 Well now, you see I am brought up against reality, 
 which is always a sustaining thing. I think bitterness 
 and fret come mostly from false ideas, false hopes 
 and false fears — (yours came from false fears). 
 When one says these things are so, the whole case is 
 simpler. 
 
 {To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 August 24, 1906. 
 
 In spite of your saying I had better not write I 
 think I shall, for even if one of my extremely precious 
 letters were lost, as you suggest, I don't see that the 
 course of the world would be disturbed. 
 
 ... I have been making Fred read some of my 
 stories written years ago, and he has been criticizing 
 most usefully — if only I had vigour enough to attend 
 to his criticisms. Arthur has offered to force an 
 
 368
 
 THE SHADOW 
 
 Editor to take at least one of them — poor man, so I 
 have to select. I've refused to write a notice for the 
 Church Quarterly on the new English Hymnal — I'jn 
 sorry, but I couldn't manage it. 
 
 Hugh will arrive on Tuesday with a few more 
 novels. It is Beth's 88th birthday. Do send her a 
 congratulatory picture post-card from somewhere. 
 She would love it ... I am sorry that the Protest- 
 antism of Holland weighs on you so much, but it 
 must be wonderfully dreary. 
 
 I have given up chasing turkeys, and am gradually 
 giving up fussing about anything. I wish I could 
 give it up quite ... I am sorry about Switzerland, 
 but I suppose sometimes in the long run some of the 
 things that seem the least good, the least desired, do 
 turn out to have been the most worth doing. 
 
 {To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 Ilkley. 
 September lo, igo6. 
 
 The want of serenity is so absolutely against 
 everything one believes in ; I mean it's nothing else 
 but flat contradiction to everything one believes of 
 the Fatherhood of God to hug our anxieties as we do ; 
 and we get the due reward of it too in the waste of 
 both time and force that we both suffer from. I am 
 beginning to try to meditate again^ — I wish you 
 would too — even for twenty minutes in the day. 
 I mean, not to meditate on the things you are doing 
 or ought to do, but on the truths furthest removed 
 from that. It is beginning to grow upon me that 
 when I get overtired, I get into fusses about detail, or 
 paroxysms of anxiety, mostly unnecessary — and 
 
 369 2 B
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 quite futile. I think you are so busy planting and 
 watering that you sometimes tend to forget a little 
 that the result doesn't depend wholly on your efforts, 
 or the efforts of other people. Don't you think you 
 give too large a place to effort ? .... I am so glad 
 you are swimming. It is a thing I dream about. 
 
 [To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 Ilkley. 
 September 13, 1906. 
 
 About Meditation, I'll tell you about the plan I'm 
 trying just now which commends itself to me. It has 
 a certain amount of definite form, which is of use, 
 I think, to people who are unpractised, or whose 
 thoughts wander much. 
 
 It is advised that one should fix the subject — 
 some incident, some idea, or some saying, the evening 
 before. Then begin the Meditation with 
 Recollection 
 Adoration 
 
 The consciousness of one's nothingness ; of the 
 
 way in which sin keeps one from perception ; 
 
 the laying aside of oneself and expectation of 
 
 enlightenment from God. 
 
 Then (i) the imagination (if it is an incident or a 
 
 saying) of all the circumstances — even as far as 
 
 possible bringing the senses to help in imagining, 
 
 sight, hearing, sometimes taste, smell, touch — 
 
 according to the Ignatian method. (2) A prayer to 
 
 God for light. 
 
 This is called the Prelude. 
 
 Then bringing (i) the memory to bear on the 
 main points of thought. (2) Letting those points 
 
 370
 
 THE SHADOW 
 
 sink into the understanding. (3) Bringing the will 
 to bear (a) by stimulating the emotion towards the 
 main point, (b) by forming resolution or attitude of 
 the whole will. 
 
 As I told you, I have never felt I was very suc- 
 cessful in Meditation, but I intend to go on as I do 
 feel it very necessary. Among the subjects I have 
 been taking are those bearing on anxiety ; or losing 
 oneself in activities and details — " Be not anxious 
 about your life " — " Martha, Martha, thou art careful 
 and troubled about many things." I don't know 
 about connected subjects. I did once go through 
 the Gospel of S. Luke in this way. I certainly think 
 it is useful to have some kind of plan, and I'm going 
 to take the 4th Chapter of the ist Epistle of S. John 
 now. Some people recommend that one should 
 repeat the same subject. 
 
 [To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 I hope you may be able to get A to talk 
 
 freely. Of course one of the symptoms of depression 
 very often is the difficulty of expressing it, and it isn't 
 always better expressed ; but what always does 
 good, I think, is to know that other people who are 
 leading a serene and rational life have been through 
 the same thing and have come out of it. Nothing 
 ever did me more good than when a doctor who had 
 been trying to make me express myself said, on my 
 beginning to confess that I was troubled with 
 depression : " Oh, we all have that," But of course 
 if there is something definitely worrj^ing it changes 
 matters rather. 
 
 371
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 {To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 Ilkley. 
 September 14, 1906. 
 
 I am going to write a letter to you in bits as I 
 move along out of doors. I'm stupefied with B. W. . . . 
 When am I going to begin my reading ? I suppose 
 I must try to finish B. W. first. I have just read it 
 straight through, and it seems to sa}^ more or less what 
 I intended, but it wants pointing, and the language 
 is simply hideous. I seem unable to write in a 
 pleasant and lucid style. I wish I could express 
 myself like Arthur. I wonder whether you are going 
 to try to write this autumn. I wish I could think 
 you were. 
 
 [To her Brother Arthiir.) 
 
 Ilkley. 
 Sept. 17, '06. 
 
 I talked to mother rather fully then about the 
 cause of my depression and I fear communicated it 
 to her for the time. I do regret it, I mean that I 
 chose my time so inconsiderately. I trust it won't 
 occur again, it was a thing I had had on my mind for 
 a long time, and it is done with now. 
 
 But in any case I feel — partly through health but 
 much I fear by character — that I fill the required 
 place badly. I have felt this indeed very little with 
 you of late years, for I have been conscious of a 
 steadily growing friendship, but there is a sort of 
 elasticity I know I lack, which is much needed when 
 so many people of keen and nervous temperament 
 
 372
 
 THE SHADOW 
 
 are brought together — who on the whole too care for 
 each other more and hold together as a family more 
 than most. Mother has it, of course, and it is what 
 Fred essentially demands. I fear I have little of 
 it, and I can only plead that it is made much more 
 difficult by ill -health than anyone who is strong and 
 capable can know. I know you know all the tortures 
 of nervous depression, more than I do — but I think 
 one gets less elastic when one can't escape by activi- 
 ties from the circle of oneself. 
 
 {To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 Ilkley. 
 Sept. i8, 1906. 
 
 I really think serenity is one of the greatest helps. 
 Indeed if one can hold to fundamental serenity, 
 relying on the fact that what happens is the Will of 
 God and is the best thing even if it comes about 
 through one's own mistake, I believe it will go of 
 its own accord ... I am trying so hard to leave off 
 fussing. It's the ruin of life. 
 
 {To Miss Bcvan.) 
 
 Ilkley. 
 
 Though one gets taken out of oneself, one tends 
 to revert — by all sorts of backways. More and more 
 I find out how very clever the devil is, and when you 
 think you have escaped him one way, he waits round 
 a corner to catch you and bring you back. There 
 are so many ways. [She goes on to speak of great 
 affection for another person as being one of the ways 
 
 ^7Z
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 in which one is taken out of oneself. Yet even this 
 is not free from danger, for one gets " borne back " 
 into thinking of one's own shortcomings.] And then 
 the person who cares for you may tend to consider 
 you too much, to consider your wants disproportion- 
 ately to those of other people, and in this way bring 
 you back to the dangers from which you are seeking 
 to escape. But if the two who love one another both 
 desire, however feebly and imperfectly, the same 
 divine end, this love I can't separate from the love of 
 God. This makes me anxious not to transgress in 
 any smallest way any of the things which are due in 
 tenderness and faithfulness to other people. And 
 because one feels that it is due to the person specially 
 loved that one should do so, it may even appear as if 
 one were considering that person too little not in 
 heart and mind indeed, but in action. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Ilkley. 
 Sept. 19, 1906. 
 
 I'm sorry about the Rolfe atmosphere, but the 
 real difficulty is that none of the Benson Bros, can 
 stop writing. They are like the wild huntsman. 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Ilkley. 
 Sept. 21, 1906. 
 
 It is perfectly true that if I get depressed or over- 
 tired it wakes in me a kind of thin, harsh, critical 
 attitude. I begin to realise more than I have ever 
 
 374
 
 THE SHADOW 
 
 done before what an odious quality it is, I hope it 
 won't disturb the peace of a family again. I regret 
 that you ever felt it, except for the letter which 
 somehow resulted from it ; for I feel what you say 
 increases the reality of the relation between us. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 6i, Egerton Gardens, S.W. 
 Oct, II (1906). 
 
 I must just write and tell you that we have 
 had such a good day at Lambeth — Lucy will tell you 
 about it, 1 do wish you could have been there — I 
 never saw the river look more exquisite, still, misty, 
 with October reflections and summer heat, and 3 
 boats with red sails, one painted blue, all reflected 
 in it. Then the service in Chapel was so nice — 
 though none of the ceremonies were eloquent. The 
 Archbishop spoke so delightfully to Gladys about her 
 whole share in it and her work, that I can only just 
 drag out of her what he said. Nettie was there and 
 really liked it, — she is as sweet as it's possible to be. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 61, Egerton Gardens, S.W. 
 Oct. 27th (1906). 
 
 We went to a synagogue this morning — such 
 beautiful singing, and such touching prayers. I had 
 my Jewish prayer-book so that with the help of a 
 friendly Jewess we could follow a little. We are 
 just off to Trafalgar Square ! 
 
 375
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 {To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 November 13, 1906. 
 
 I have just finished writing B. W. That doesn't 
 mean that I have finished writing out or correcting, 
 but that I have finished the actual book — for at 
 least the second time. Still I am glad to have done 
 so much. It seemed interminable. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Tremans, 
 Nov. 24, 1906. 
 
 This is just one line to tell you I got back 
 at lunch time and found all well here — Nettie and 
 Margaret cheerful ; Beth wonderfully busy, so that 
 she has no time for reading ; Roddy screaming with 
 pleasure ; the cat under the pipes, and pigeons and 
 bantams in ranks at the door. 
 
 I am going to have my class on Tuesday and a 
 reading of plays sometime in the week I hope — and 
 look forward to it all very much. 
 
 N. B. — Would you make a flighty and overdressed 
 girl act the part of the smart and cheeky London girl 
 with a flammg hat, who gets thoroughly scored off ? 
 She would do it very well I think — or would you 
 consider the moral effect adverse, or wholesome, or 
 indifferent ? 
 
 {To Miss Beatrice Layman.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 
 (1906.) 
 
 I was so very sorry to get your telegram this 
 morning ; I gathered it must have been very serious 
 
 376
 
 Photo by H. Walter Barnclt, Knightsbridgc, S.IF.] 
 
 Miss Gourlay. Maggie, 
 
 1906. 
 
 [To lace page 376.
 
 THE SHADOW 
 
 from it, before I got your letter ; but from what you 
 say I suppose there is still great danger. Such times 
 are very difficult, and would be more, perhaps, except 
 that one does not seem to fully realise things at the 
 time — but I know your strong desire isn't for mere 
 prolongation of life, but if it may be, for the best and 
 fullest kind of life up to the end. That is what one 
 feels so strongly about Beth — it's quite unlike what 
 one feels about a younger person who may possibly 
 re-construct life again — and sometimes there's a 
 kind of peace too in great anxiety, in spite of the 
 tension of feeling. And I think one must remember 
 too that that is sometimes so with the person who 
 is ill, even if it does not seem so on the outside — 
 things take a new proportion, time seems to move in 
 a different way. I shall be glad to know how things 
 go if you can find time to write me a line, and I shall 
 think of you. 
 
 {To a friend.) 
 
 Lambeth Palace. 
 
 Sunday. (igo6.) 
 
 I know these times of just holding on — to prevent 
 biting and scratching or anything else of the sort — 
 make one feel just after only as if one had been pulled 
 through a key-hole — but afterwards one finds some- 
 times that they have been more use than almost any 
 other, and that the worst times come often soon 
 before the best. 
 
 But of course they feel horrible at the time. I 
 do know that. 
 
 Yours always, 
 
 M. B. 
 
 377
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 Dec. I, '06. 
 
 We have had an archdeacon and a rural dean here 
 to-day and feel quite flattered — and wonder at the 
 times when I felt contemptuous and bored with 40 
 of them. 
 
 {To her Brother Hugh.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 Dec. 18. 
 
 I think it's hard that with 3 brotheis there should 
 be nary a new book ready for me this week. It must 
 be Self-denial week. Did you see " Signs of the 
 Times " in Punch .^ 
 
 " Self-denial week. Mr. A. C. Benson refrains 
 from publishing a book." 
 
 {To a friend.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 Dec. 20 (1906). 
 
 My dear G- 
 
 I don't think your letter sounds at all as if 
 you were going to give in, but remarkably as if you 
 weren't. On the other hand, one does know that 
 having a door slammed in one's face, in life, has very 
 often been the very thing that has turned one about 
 into a new and more desirable way. 
 
 378
 
 THE SHADOW 
 
 Do quickly get some other things to do after dark 
 — is your carving all right ? Also I have begun to 
 think that one loses a lot by not practising mental 
 vision. Hugh seems to me to have enormously 
 strengthened, and healthily, all his imaginative 
 faculties by practising this, in the course of medi- 
 tation in his case — bringing up a scene into mental 
 vision, sound, touch even. The easiest thing I hnd 
 to do it with is some poem like 
 
 "Deep on the convent roof." 
 
 He does it with the Bible — but one loses the greater 
 part of one's memories by not revisiting them, 
 too. And all this evidently increases perception 
 enormously. 
 
 I wonder whether you could anyhow, struggle 
 with yourself less and drop the things more — not say 
 " I will fight with this fear " — but simply drop it. 
 Simple, isn't it ? but for distractions of thought 
 (for example) many people recommend it. 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 Jan. 31, 1907. 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 Streams of people flowed in ever since you 
 
 went, (i) Mr. P and Beth bouncing into my 
 
 room with flushed cheeks to say she couldn't have 
 him up to her room ; I was to go to the drawing- 
 room, and she would just come down and speak to 
 him, and then I could talk to him ; so after a 
 remonstrance, I collapsed and said very well, but 
 he would think me a strange person who didn't 
 
 379
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 know much of my own house or the people in it ! 
 Then she gave in, and behaved as well as anyone 
 could expect ; and said afterwards (i) he wasn't 
 a gentleman, (2) be had a baby-face, (3) he pre- 
 ferred, she expected, going with second-class people 
 rather than first-class. 
 
 Your lovingest daughter, 
 
 M. B. 
 
 {To S. A. McDowall) 
 
 Tremans. 
 Feb. II, 1907. 
 
 I feel I must have appeared so ungrateful for 
 your quite delightful letter. But when you wrote 
 I really wasn't up to much ; and since then it has had 
 the fate of those postponed letters which one has 
 really cared to receive — namely, to be frequently 
 taken out and postponed again, because one had not 
 ample time for writing. 
 
 For indeed your letter touched me and made me 
 grateful and glad. It has often seemed to me lately 
 since you grew older, as if you were in a way like a 
 younger brother — and I have so cared to know what 
 you have let me see of the working of your mind, 
 and your affection has been dear to me. 
 
 Mother asks me to thank you very much for your 
 letter, and to say how sorry she was to miss you, and 
 how much we should like you to come here for a few 
 quiet days before your marriage, if arrangements 
 here make it possible — but this she can't quite tell 
 just yet. 
 
 380
 
 THE SHADOW 
 
 (To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 39, Evelyn Gardens. 
 
 February 14, 1907. 
 
 Really your house is lovely. All the rooms have 
 changed their shapes since I was here last. The 
 drawing-room is much prettier even than I expected. 
 I am sitting on the sofa now with a lower window 
 open and it is deliciously warm and fresh. The whole 
 house feels very warm, and your household is making 
 us very comfortable. . . . My room is gorgeous, a 
 perfect bower of roses. I'm going to look in at it 
 again before dark ... I do like being in your 
 room. Some people's rooms are so much themselves. 
 One characteristic thing I find is that as usual in 
 your paper-case there is 
 
 1 inky sheet of paper, 
 
 2 envelopes addressed to Thurgood and Martin, 
 
 3 envelopes addressed to the Bishop of Gibraltar. 
 I have a great mind to send this in one. 
 
 [To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 In the train [on the way to Cornwall.] 
 
 Feb. 15, 1907. 
 
 We have just crossed into Cornwall by the great 
 harbour at Devonport, with battleships and torpedoes 
 lying in it, looking like great ugly noxious beasts . . . 
 You say you spend your time reading and writing. 
 
 I hope you don't write much. B tells me that 
 
 you have written at length about Greek Testament 
 arrangements. I wish you would try to throw off 
 the responsibility for that just now. It is the time 
 to do it, and to let people at home take their proper 
 share, which will never happen if you don't take your 
 hand off it . . . 
 
 381
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 [To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 Falmouth. 
 February i8, 1907. 
 
 I think what one learns to do more and more as 
 one grows older is to keep hopefulness without 
 definite hopes. One sees how little one really knows 
 of what is best for other people, and how unexpectedly 
 their lives work out, and unless one surrenders 
 definite hopes, one doesn't give fair play. People 
 can't expand or be at their best with anyone who has 
 too definitely made up their mind as to what the 
 best is. And then I think if one has one's mind on 
 what they haven't done, it bars the way to possible 
 expansion. 
 
 {To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 (1907.) 
 If you want to show anyone what they have 
 missed in life through not caring for people, you 
 can't do that by telling them so or by way of accu- 
 sation (I mean with the atmosphere of accusation 
 or judgment) as much as by having in yourself the 
 quality of the thing they have missed . . . E.g., 
 if you see me do wrong and go on caring as much 
 or more than before, and if you mind, it makes me 
 see a thousand times more what the quality of it is, 
 and makes me more hate the evil thing which hurts 
 love, than if any number of people accused me or 
 judged me in their minds. I don't mean that it is 
 never good to feel oneself judged by someone else. 
 It is sometimes very good, but it depends on the 
 relation in which one stands to the person. Some- 
 times it is very hardening. If you are too near in 
 
 382
 
 THE SHADOW 
 
 pordtion and too alien in personal relation it cannot 
 be done safely. 
 
 {To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 Falmouth. 
 February 20, 1907. 
 
 It was SO stormy yesterday we couldn't get out 
 at all, and now too we are sitting in a shelter looking 
 at the sea, while a storm of rain and hail blows by. 
 This will not sound so reviving to you as it is in 
 reality to me. It's lovely. The sea is beginning to 
 shine again like silver near the headlands, and faintly 
 and clearly green and blue near the shore. The sea 
 is quite clear water here, not nasty, thick, muddy 
 water as at most English seaside places. Here is 
 the sun again brilliantly, and such colours in the 
 sea — all the translucent exquisite colours, and foam 
 and freshness, and the shells and the sand. 
 
 {To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 Falmouth. 
 February 23, 1907. 
 
 I don't think it a good plan always to fill up the 
 time that might be leisured by work which you don't 
 need to do. You'll never get a holiday at that rate ; 
 and if you had the possibility of working leisurely 
 later, you would be sure to get your time filled up 
 by taking on something new. By the time this 
 reaches you, you will only have ten days left. Do 
 try to make good use of them, and do as little business 
 as you can ... I tried to learn a verse of Dante this 
 morning which I thought would be very good for 
 
 383
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 you (and me, and N. and several other people). 
 I've forgotten it mostl}^ : 
 
 " Regnum coelorum violenza pate 
 Da caldo amore, e da viva speranza." 
 
 How many mistakes have I made ? The last line * 
 means that they conquer it by its own divine will. 
 
 {To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 Falmouth. 
 Feb. 25, 1907. 
 
 We have been to such an exquisite Comish 
 garden to-day, with palms and citrons, and fruiting 
 bananas, and tree-ferns, and snowdrops and crocuses, 
 and birds that come round and chide you if you 
 haven't brought cake. 
 
 Did you see the perfectly beautiful sunset yester- 
 day evening ? The country looked so wonderful 
 in it that I dreamed of rose-tinted country, with 
 hills and trees which I was trying to sketch. 
 
 {To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 February 25 (1906 or '07). 
 
 If one cares for anyone very much, the fact that 
 that person returns it in the same way is so much 
 more important than their simple presence, that it 
 swallows up the rest. I believe people do differ very 
 much in this way. I always felt that if I were going 
 to marry, I should go first for a long time by myself 
 to some entirely flat place like the plains near Calais, 
 and assimilate the fact. I think when I get what I 
 want, it takes me a long time to assimilate it — and I 
 can do without repeated supplies meantime. I don't 
 think this illustration is very elegant. 
 
 * E vinta vince con sua beninavza.
 
 THE SHADOW 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 Fowey. 
 March 2 (1907). 
 
 We had a wonderfully leisurely journey here 
 yesterday, and the distinction of having eleven 
 boxes in the van and about 8 packages in the carriage 
 earned us a great deal of consideration. When I 
 travel with Nettie, we have waggons for our luggage 
 like you and Lucy. 
 Much love to all. 
 
 Your lovingest daughter, 
 
 M. B. 
 
 {To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 Fowey. 
 March 2, 1907. 
 
 This is the most beautiful and queer place, just 
 at the entrance of the harbour so that you look out 
 to the open sea, and also up the creek of an inland 
 river. It isn't a bit like England. The garden 
 slopes down with little arbours and shelters on tiny 
 terraces till one is just above the rocks and can look 
 down on to the back of a seagull and see his yellow 
 webbed feet paddling through green water. Even 
 you would like the sea here. 
 
 {To Miss Bcvan.) 
 
 Fowey. 
 March 11, 1907. 
 
 It has been sunny and we have been all the 
 morning on the balcony over the sea doing B. W. 
 and Cheyne's " Job and Solomon "... Your notes 
 [i.e., about B. W.] will be very useful, though I know 
 
 385 2 c
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 one of those chapters was so corrected that it could 
 hardly have been intelligible ; and I think the stand- 
 point is in some ways rather different here from what 
 you have in mind. In this early part of the book I 
 don't want to assume the Christian standpoint, only 
 to argue that it is not unreasonable. How would 
 you like " The substance of things hoped for " for a 
 title ? 
 
 [To her Brother A rthur.) 
 
 S. Catharine's Hotel, 
 Fowey. 
 March 19 (1907). 
 
 Yes, I believe the mists will disperse. I think 
 they must. They somehow seem to have risen to 
 hide what is so much better, behind them. 
 
 {Extract from letter to Miss Bevan.) 
 
 Tremans, 
 April 12, 1907. 
 
 I'm so sorry not to answer your questions satis- 
 factorily. There is really nothing the matter — ^but I 
 suppose a certain tiredness and strain, and probably 
 partly the weather produce a general depression 
 against which I do struggle but not wholly success- 
 fully. It's quite unreal, so the less said about it the 
 better. It will do me good to be with you, and you 
 must make me think about other things ... I will 
 be happy. I ought to be and really am. Then I 
 shall soon be well, for really there is very little 
 amiss. 
 
 386
 
 THE SHADOW 
 
 {To hey Brother Arthur.) 
 
 39, Evelyn Gardens, S.W. 
 
 April 21, 1907. 
 
 My dearest Artpiur, 
 
 Thank you so very much for letting me see 
 these strange sad letters. I expect it has been a 
 relief to write ; and as curiously one sees the strange 
 wilful, vague, impulsive character all through. I 
 wonder what her stories were like ? I suppose not 
 really good at all, as she does not speak of en- 
 couragement on your part. This is a singular story. 
 
 It was so nice coming to see your rooms, and the 
 College, and all you had done in it. It looked on that 
 raining afternoon such a dim, dignified place ; and 
 I liked to hear your organ. I am up here for a few 
 days more, and then next week mother and Lucy go 
 abroad, so I shall mostly be quietly inhabiting 
 Tremans during May. 
 
 Maggie Ponsonby came here to see me last night, 
 and her chief theme was the necessity and desira- 
 bility of your writing a play. She explained that 
 the idea of a play now was the entire absence of plot, 
 and a succession of scenes in which people revealed 
 themselves simply as real human beings, and that 
 she decided was the thing which you could do 
 pre-eminently well. I suggested that crises of human 
 feeling were also wanted, and that was not so much 
 in 37our line ; she admitted that something of the 
 kind was necessary. 
 
 Did you know that Diana Cholmondeley had 
 suddenly blossomed out into an accepted play, after 
 writing two which were considered exceedingly good 
 by dramatic critics — but which had not been 
 taken. 
 
 387
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 Didn't you think there was a very pleasant 
 feeling about Tuesday's festivities — in spite of full 
 rooms ? They were so simple and real. But you 
 of course had fled before the end. 
 
 Your loving, 
 
 M. B. 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 39, Evelyn Gardens, S.W. 
 April 26, 1907. 
 
 My dearest Arthur, 
 
 I am much ashamed to find that I have missed 
 writing to send you all very best wishes for your 
 birthday. Not but that I habitually have to regret 
 such failings, but you are so particularly kind in your 
 remembrance. It isn't too late to wish you many 
 happy returns of the day, I hope. 
 
 I am staying here till Monday next and then go 
 back to Tremans to have a few days with Mother 
 
 before she goes away. By the way I wrote to A 
 
 to ask if I could see her. I couldn't, as she was 
 condemned to silence, but I received no encourage- 
 ment to ask again, so I fear that I am now in dis- 
 favour. You — according to Maggie Ponsonby, have 
 been re-exalted — " the prophet Isaiah " — she said. 
 
 Don't think of answering this — please only take 
 its good wishes and forgive their lateness, and if you 
 can think of anything you want — do tell me some- 
 time. I had intended to write and ask this before 
 your birthday. 
 
 Your loving sister, 
 
 Margaret Benson. 
 
 388
 
 THE SHADOW 
 
 {To her Mother.) 
 
 39, Evelyn Gardens, S.W. 
 April 27, 1907. 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 I have got your telegram. I am so relieved 
 to hear that you are glad I went to the doctor. He 
 was most re-assuring, as Gladys will have told you. 
 About Dr. May I have done all I can do. I not only 
 wrote to University College, " to be forwarded," but 
 went up there, found my letter had been sent on, 
 but that he was expected every day. I then left a 
 card asking if he could see me — so there is really no 
 more I can do. Amy came in here yesterday, and 
 says she is going to see you to-morrow, so she'll ^tell 
 you how much better I am. So many thanks 1 for 
 your post-card. I really don't know what I can do 
 about Turkeys' eggs. Can Marshall not hear of 
 some about ? That is much the best plan. Other- 
 wise I must try and get them through the Exchange 
 and Mart or some other paper. Anyhow I had 
 better wait till I get down. If he cmi't hear of 
 others, he had better put her on Hens' eggs. 
 
 I'm sending you a country-side extract Nettie 
 sent me about Roddie's food. 
 
 We are just off to the Zoo ! so I must stop— that's 
 our last dissipation. 
 
 Best love to all. 
 
 Your lovingest daughter, 
 
 Maggie. 
 
 {To Miss Bevan.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 April 30, 1907. 
 
 Thank you very much for your most beautiful 
 and delightful letter. The place is prettier than you 
 
 389
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 can well imagine, with the cherry trees and the tulips 
 and forget-me-nots. As Beth says, " It doesn't 
 seem like a place to live in, but a place to go and see." 
 And all the birds — the pigeons are so nice, and come 
 following one halfway up the drive. I do trust I 
 am serene in spirit when I can realise it — but I 
 couldn't sleep, and have a heavy weight of stupidity. 
 They are all so nice and delightful . . . And it is a 
 help always to think of your love . . . 
 
 390
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE LAST YEARS 
 
 The end of her happiness came swiftly at last. 
 She concealed, except from those who were closest 
 to her, the gathering of a deep depression and gloom 
 which came and went, making life savourless and 
 bitter, and the struggle to keep abreast of her duties 
 almost intolerable. The disease which seemed to 
 have been checked canied its ravages further. At 
 Ilkley in 1906 she suffered from a herce depression, 
 and even said to her best friend that she feared that, 
 if it were to continue, her mind might give way. The 
 cloud lifted again ; but the signs of what was 
 happening are easy enough now to discern. She was 
 full of mistrust and self-scrutiny and a morbid sense 
 of failure. She blamed herself for not being equal 
 to her duties, for not giving her friends and relations 
 the exact sort of sympathy they required, for not 
 hlling her place in the world rightly ; and at the 
 same time her old tolerance failed her, and she 
 tended to criticise others for not playing their part 
 more strenuously and laboriously. In the winter 
 of 1906 she had an attack of influenza, and went 
 away in the early spring with Miss Gourlay and 
 Miss Layman to Cornwall. There again she fell 
 into deep depression of mind, and her letters to 
 
 391
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 me at the time, about some minute points of 
 household arrangement, show me now, though 
 I did not perceive it then, how deeply strained 
 her whole being was. She came up to London, 
 and consulted more than one doctor, but it was 
 thought to be only a temporary derangement of 
 health. She told me one day, long afterwards, how 
 greatly she had suffered from tyrannous fancies, 
 which she seemed unable to resist, such as seeing in 
 the faces of people, whom she passed in the streets, 
 underlying darknesses and vilenesses, old animal 
 inheritances and evil taints of blood. She described 
 to me how the world often appeared to her as 
 suddenly phantasmal, as though everything except 
 the actual objects on which her eyes rested were 
 falling into dust and nothingness, and as if life were 
 a confused cataract pouring into the void. Against 
 these dreams of horror she fought with all her might, 
 and her self-control at this time must have been 
 wonderful. The last time I saw her in health was 
 when she came to Cambridge for the wedding of her 
 cousin, Stewart McDowall, whose friend and confi- 
 dante she had long been. She travelled down with 
 my mother from London, and went straight to the 
 Church, where I joined them, and I rem.ember the 
 pale and beautiful smile with which she made room 
 for me beside her. She came later to my rooms at 
 Magdalene for tea, was interested in everything, and 
 said a few words to me about our recent corre- 
 spondence. " It was silly of me to take it so seriously 
 and make such a fuss." Then she went home, and 
 there followed days of sleeplessness and mental 
 torment, and deep wretchedness, till there came a 
 sudden collapse of mind and body alike. Yet even 
 
 392
 
 THE LAST YEARS 
 
 that very night, when she went to her room with 
 Miss Beatrice Layman to try and rest, she made a 
 great effort, sent her love to her friends, and quoted 
 the words of Browning : 
 
 " If I stoop 
 Into a dark tremendous sea of cloud, 
 It is but for a time ..." 
 
 There followed days of half-conscious misery, and 
 deep anxiety, her one wish, whenever she could 
 express it, being not to cause trouble in the house, 
 but to be removed into quiet care. She was for a 
 time in the charge of some good Sisters of Mercy, 
 and we saw her occasionally, when she tried with all 
 her might to be natural and self-possessed, and to hear 
 about home doings and interests ; but a visit which 
 I paid her alone showed me only too clearly, how 
 utterly her mind had given way, though even then 
 she was full of loving anxiety, and besought me not 
 to come again, because it would be bad for me. This 
 interview precipitated an illness of my own which 
 had long been impending, and for over tv/o years I 
 was myself in great prostration. Maggie was then 
 moved to a house for such cases near London, — the 
 Priory, Roehampton — and was for a long time 
 unable to see anyone except my mother occasionally, 
 upon whom she greatly depended, but her whole 
 life was submerged in storm-clouds and distracted 
 visions. She received the tenderest and most 
 sympathetic care. 
 
 Gradually, however, her health improved. I was 
 able to see her in 1910. She was much altered, 
 spoke low, and evidently suffered much from hope- 
 lessness and gloom ; but her memory for all the 
 past was extraordinarily clear, and she liked nothing 
 
 393
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 better than talking about the old days. She was 
 soon well enough to go out drives with me ; and 
 always preferred the streets of London to quieter 
 places. We passed one day by St. Paul's, and she 
 expressed a wish to go in. We went into the nave, 
 and she knelt long in prayer, and I well remember 
 the smile with which she said as we came out, " I 
 never expected to be here again." After this we 
 went to service there and at the Abbey, visited 
 Lambeth, went to Hampton Court, to museums and 
 picture galleries, and even to the theatre. She 
 went, too, with her devoted friend Miss Be van, to 
 lectures at the British Academy given in French by 
 Professor van Hoonacker of Louvain, on the Jewish 
 Colony at Elephantine in the fifth century B.C., 
 Maggie took full notes and discussed the subject 
 afterwards with her usual acuteness. Miss Be van 
 tells me, too, that they went together in 1915 to 
 Evensong at Westminster Abbey, where an inter- 
 cession was used for those who had fallen in the war. 
 Maggie was much interested in this, but her old 
 critical faculty reviving, she expressed the difficulty 
 which she felt. " If we pray for the departed, for 
 what should we pray ? That they may receive light 
 or forgiveness. But can we make such prayers for 
 the saints ? Might we not rather expect them to 
 pray for us ? And if we arc not to ask these things 
 for all the departed, where then should the line be 
 drawn ? " She had wholly recovered her nerve, and 
 I remember that one day, when she was to meet me 
 at my Club, the taxi-cab in which she was being 
 driven collided with another and was driven on to 
 the pavement, an accident which she viewed with 
 entire calmness and even amusement. Her talk 
 
 394
 
 THE LAST YEARS 
 
 became humorous as of old, and she could laugh with 
 much enjoyment over old stories and reminiscences. 
 Indeed her intellect was never obscured. She would 
 sometimes repeat long poems with perfect accuracy, 
 and her letters were full of minute recollections. 
 But she had rooted suspicions of many of her old 
 friends, and a deep dread of she knew not what. 
 She retained all her quickness and incisiveness of 
 mind. My brother Hugh and I were with her one 
 day and she made some accusation against a friend, 
 which I controverted, and she said to me that I had 
 failed in perception. Hugh intervened, and said 
 that he agreed with me, to which Maggie said with 
 a smile that he was always too generous and loyal. 
 
 She won, too, as she had always done, the devoted 
 affection of her tender and careful nurse, Miss Holt, 
 who discerned the true and beautiful character 
 beyond the shadowed mind. " I often think of 
 Miss Benson," she wrote to me since Maggie's 
 death, " indeed I am always thinking about her, 
 and thankful that I was allowed to know and love 
 her." 
 
 Her room was bright and sunny, and looked out 
 on to a quiet lawn and garden, with big trees. It 
 was hung with many of her pictures, and she had her 
 canary and many little treasures about her ; she 
 had at this time curious and beautiful fancies about 
 birds, which she said were imprisoned spirits, she 
 was sure. 
 
 In the garden at the Priory there were hve robins 
 who knew her quite well. As soon as she appeared 
 they would come flying after her, and follow her 
 along the path. She used to feed them with crumbs, 
 and one robin was so tame that it would eat out of 
 
 395
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 her hand. Every morning after breakfast she 
 scattered crumbs on her windowsill for the birds. 
 
 On Sundays, says Miss Holt, when too ill to go 
 to Church, she always had her Prayer-Book and 
 Greek Testament by her, and read the collect. 
 Epistle and Gospel for the day ; and as she used to 
 do before she was ill, she always read the poem for 
 the day in " The Christian Year." The one she 
 specially liked was for the 21st Sunday after Trinity. 
 She would also give her nurse some money to put 
 for her into the offertory. Miss Bevan, who often 
 went to her on Sundays, says that she was always to 
 be found with her little pile of books of devotion 
 beside her, and that she would often sing a hymn, 
 such as " Shepherd Divine," in her soft low voice. 
 Miss Bevan used to send her reproductions of sacred 
 pictures, Botticelli and Era Angelico, and these were 
 always kept in view. 
 
 Later on, at Wimbledon, when she heard that the 
 Vicar of the Church was arranging to have some 
 devotional books in the Church for those who liked 
 to come and read there, she sent him Jeremy Taylor's 
 " Holy Living." 
 
 She studied the daily papers with great care, and 
 no little detail, referring to anyone whom she had ever 
 known, escaped her. 
 
 " I was inexpressibly touched," writes a friend of 
 the Oxford days, " when a week or two after my 
 marriage, in July, 1911, to my old friend and Oxford 
 tutor, I received a little note from IMaggie, wishing 
 me joy. It was four years after her mental break- 
 down, and I had not thought that she knew or cared 
 about passing events. But she said she had seen 
 the notice in the papers, and it evidently struck some 
 
 396
 
 THE LAST YEARS 
 
 chord of memory, vibrating back to Oxford, and 
 awoke the old friendship between us which belonged 
 to our college days." 
 
 One day — it must have been in 1913 — I spent her 
 birthday with her. We sate in the garden, and she 
 talked quietly and sweetly of old days, without a 
 word about her sad fancies. It was then that I first 
 believed she would wholly recover ; and she was 
 soon afterwards moved to Wimbledon, to the care 
 of a kindly doctor and his wife, where she had a 
 pleasant drawing-room and garden, and lived a more 
 or less normal life, mingling freely \\dth the family, 
 and pleased with the talk of the children ; she 
 took to reading and sketching, and was always 
 anxious to hear any news about her old friends. 
 She read my little memoir of my brother Hugh 
 carefully, and suggested many improvements. How 
 strong her mental powers then were, a small in- 
 stance may show. I came to see her with a small 
 book about Eucken in my hand. She turned over 
 the pages and said, " It seems a sort of Hegel- 
 ianism." I said to her that I never could get any 
 clear ideas about philosophy, and she must explain 
 to me what Hegelianism was. She gave me an 
 admirable sketch of the whole theory, adding with a 
 smile, " But all my philosophy is very rusty now ! " 
 
 After this date she travelled a little — to Lowestoft, 
 Bournemouth, and Falmouth, where she sketched 
 and drove, and even made notes on the buildings 
 and antiquities. 
 
 It was during her time at Falmouth that she 
 visited Truro and Kenwyn. It gave her great 
 pleasure to see once more the places in which some 
 of the happiest years of her life were spent. She 
 
 397
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 also met several people whom she remembered. One 
 of the officials on the steamer she recognised as the 
 son of an old acquaintance, Mrs. Benney. She found 
 the same verger at the Cathedral whom she had 
 known, and walked round it with him. She always 
 took the greatest interest in the Cathedral, and loved 
 to talk about it. On this occasion she was much 
 pleased to see the brass tablet which had been put 
 up in memory of Beth near her father's tablet. 
 
 Then she drove to Lis Escop, and walked through 
 the house. She went to Kenwyn Church, and sat 
 in the same place where she had sat at her Confir- 
 mation ; and she also sat in the seat in which she 
 used to sit by her mother. She remembered that the 
 light coming through some blue glass in the window 
 used to fall upon her face, and she liked to find it 
 still the same as she sat there. 
 
 She saw a little book of stories, " The Court of 
 the King," previously written, through the press, and 
 made many corrections, while she also wrote a few 
 reviews and even a poem or two. 
 
 But her mind never recovered its spring, while 
 she continued much haunted by thoughts of intrigues 
 against her which she supported by many ingenious 
 instances. She was much distressed too by a sense 
 of having lost her religious faith, though, as I have 
 said, she often read the Bible and prayed, and said 
 to me more than once that the world seemed empty 
 of God. She could not understand why it was 
 impossible for her to return home, though we hoped 
 and hoped in vain ; but her stem conviction that 
 her breakdown, of which she was perfectly conscious, 
 had been contrived, rendered this impracticable. 
 
 Once indeed, she stepped quietly out of the 
 
 398
 
 THE LAST YEARS 
 
 garden, took the train at the station, went on to 
 London and so to Horsted Keynes. She walked 
 up to Tremans from the station, and came in, saying 
 quietly to the maid, " Mary, I have come home." 
 She talked with much animation that evening, and 
 in the morning revisited every room, and refreshed 
 her eyes with the sight of all the familiar household 
 things ; but, alas, she might not stay, though I think 
 the visit did her good, in spite of the fatigue resulting 
 from it. 
 
 She saw a few visitors from time to time, but my 
 brother Fred saw far more of her in her last years 
 than anyone else, and constantly went down to 
 Wimbledon to spend an afternoon. Maggie not in- 
 frequently went up to have tea with him at his 
 house, or to go to some play or show with him. 
 My brother says that he often felt conscious that 
 her real self was very near the surface indeed, and 
 that it was sometimes as if a veil which seemed to 
 hang between her and the normal world was very 
 thin, and hardly hid her from him. The fact that 
 her malady obscured her intellect so little and left 
 her memory so accurate and clear seemed to him to 
 give a hopeful promise of her ultimate recovery. She 
 had at times a little hope of her own, for she knew 
 well how ill she had been ; and I can recollect the 
 mixture of delight and pride with which she told 
 me, soon after going to Wimbledon, that she had 
 been twice to Church in one Sunday, and had 
 enjoyed it greatly. 
 
 Mrs. Lea says, " I took my elder boy, her godson, 
 with me the last time I went to see her. She had 
 not seen him for a long time, and it was evidently one 
 of her bad days ; but while he w^s in the room she. 
 
 399
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 listened to and laughed at his schoolboy chatter, 
 and wanted to know all that he was doing and 
 meant to do. 
 
 After he had left us she sat with me by the window 
 silent, looking out with the wistful expression I had 
 seen years ago in Egypt. We made no plans now, 
 and spoke neither of the past nor of the future, 
 and when at last it grew dark and I had to leave her 
 we said no good-bye, although I think I knew that 
 I should never see her again. But there was no 
 need for us to speak." 
 
 She sent this little poem, written some years 
 earlier, to a paper, the Church Family Newspaper, 
 where it was published. 
 
 " The last red leaf floats down the breeze 
 Beneath a gloomy autumn sky, 
 And desolate and bare, the trees 
 UpUft their naked arms on high ; 
 And all things perish, fast, so fast ; 
 But love shall last, but love shall last ! 
 
 riie nesting bird is flown and gone. 
 The swallow leaves the wintry sky. 
 The butterfly's brief da-j is done. 
 Dead is the darting dragon-fly. 
 All happy things have fled, have fled ; 
 And love is dead, and love is dead ? 
 
 The thicket bursts with tender greenj 
 The primrose stars the mossy vale ; 
 In yonder budding copse is seen 
 The covert of the nightingale ; 
 The swallow seeks the summer sky ; 
 Love cannot die, love cannot die." 
 
 I subjoin a few of her letters written during her 
 illness : — 
 
 400
 
 THE LAST YEARS 
 
 {To Miss Gourlay.) 
 
 June 14, 1908. 
 
 My own, thank you so much for the " poetical 
 peaches " — I had one at once, and it was very good. 
 As the bottle hasn't come yet, I don't quite under- 
 stand of what kind it may be. 
 
 When you wrote to me last you said that, until 
 I was well again, my business was yours. Do take 
 all the care of Gladys, as well as of yourself, that you 
 can. Of course I want to see you both, only I don't 
 think that it would be good for either of you at 
 present. Everybody tells me that I am getting very 
 much better quickly, and that all I can do is to have 
 " blind faith," in the doctor, and patience. Good- 
 bye, my own, I wish I could come to your pictured 
 hands. Give my love and thanks to Gladys for her 
 beautiful present, 
 
 Yours, 
 
 M. B. 
 
 {To Miss Gourlay.) 
 
 April 13, 1909. 
 
 My dearest, thank you for sending me the plants. 
 I was grieved to hear of your sad news. How I wish 
 I could wake and find myself at home with you and 
 others who cared for me so much — Mother and 
 Hugh and Beth. 
 
 I went out in the garden and driving two or three 
 times last week, but have been in bed the last two 
 days. I have a little canary here which Mother sent 
 from London, but nothing thrives here well. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 M. B. 
 
 401 2 D
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 {To Miss Gourlay.) 
 
 July 30, 1909. 
 
 My dear Nettie, 
 
 I see in this morning's paper the death of your 
 brother's little boy. I am very sorry to hear it, but 
 I know you feared he would not live. They will be 
 grieving for his death, but he is free from this weary 
 world. 
 
 All the world seems so full of trouble. 
 
 I am ill and wretched and don't know what to 
 do. And all I try to do seems to go wrong. 
 
 When you write, will you tell V and A 
 
 how sorry I am for their trouble. 
 
 I wish I could believe that I should get well 
 again ; things used to seem happy or at least hopeful 
 in the old days. I wonder where and why they went 
 wrong. 
 
 You say you are going to Girton to-morrow, so 
 I will send this letter there — as perhaps you may go 
 to R on your way. 
 
 Yours, 
 Margaret Benson. 
 
 [To Miss Gourlay.) 
 
 The Priory. 
 Jan. 15, 1910. 
 
 My dearest, I don't forget that to-morrow was 
 the day on which I first saw you. We had some 
 happy times after that, at least I thought them 
 happy. I wish I had behaved more worthily, and 
 not brought such sorrow upon you and others. I 
 
 402
 
 THE LAST YEARS 
 
 thought I saw you out the other day and tried to 
 get to you. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 M. B. 
 
 {To Miss Bevan.) ■ 
 
 St. Mawes. 
 August 13, 1914. 
 
 You asked me some time ago to send you a 
 sketch, so I am sending one of Pendennis I have done 
 since I was here. The place is really very pretty . . . 
 To St. Mawes itself I have never been before, though 
 I have passed it. It is strange, however, to see all the 
 places about so warlike, and yet to have the contrast 
 of such absolutely quiet and peaceful-looking scenes 
 — children playing and wading on the beach, and 
 people boating and swimming, though the costumes 
 they go about in, and the way in which the children 
 (visitors mostly I think) go barelegged, even when 
 they are not wading, is unusual at least. When one 
 picnics, one comes across parties of soldiers, or the 
 boats pass full of them ; and landing at Falmouth the 
 hotel close to the pier is guarded, and the road by 
 which we used to drive round Pendennis stopped by 
 sentries. Two large German steamers coming before 
 war was declared, were detained in the harbour, and 
 the passengers have now been landed in Falmouth. 
 
 {To her Brother Arthtir.) 
 
 Wimbledon. 
 Dec. 19, 1914. 
 
 Thank you so much for sending your book 
 The Beauty of Life " — which I received to-day. It 
 
 403
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 seems a beautiful book. I am sure I shall enjoy 
 reading it if, in the old phrase, " I am spared to do 
 so." Some of the extracts, of course, I know and like 
 already, from knowing your books and other writings 
 in which they first occurred, but more I think are 
 from books of yours which I have never seen. It 
 is well illustrated too, though the choice of the months 
 in which the extracts illustrated occur are not such 
 as would always have most obviously suggested 
 themselves. 
 
 I should like to send you something nice for 
 Christmas, but I feel utterly " epuisee " — I don't 
 know if any English word quite expresses it — of 
 ideas and of force. One doesn't know enough, one 
 can't, from the little one does know, account, 
 so that even the attempt to acquire knowledge 
 is futile. One's will is fettered, and if it weie not, 
 one's action is fettered — and then one feels the 
 pathos for other people, who cared for beautiful and 
 good things both of this world and the next, more 
 than I can remember doing, (though I did care, and 
 tried to express it a little in writing and more in 
 sketching) ; the first two lines of the extract from 
 the Ode on Gray (included in your new book), I have 
 sometimes thought of as descriptive of yourself — 
 your own love of writing — and I know you were so 
 much interested in people, in books, in nature, in so 
 many things. 
 
 I don't see how it is possible not to fear death in 
 any case. Yet it is imaginable — -in fact one must 
 believe it — that people face death for some great 
 cause or some great devotion. I suppose people 
 have done so even who have not believed in an 
 after-life. But supposing one feels that there 
 
 404
 
 THE LAST YEARS 
 
 is not even any great or good purpose to be 
 served ? 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Wimbledon. 
 Dec. 29, 1914. 
 
 My dear Arthur, 
 
 I want to write and tell you how much I like 
 " The Orchard Pavilion," which Mamma sent me for 
 a Christmas present. It seems to me such a very 
 clever real modernising of the old Platonic discussion 
 of the relation between the good, the true and the 
 beautiful — theme, language and setting all really 
 niodernised. One feels a little bored sometimes if 
 a modern theme is put in the " Now tell me, Alci- 
 biades " . . . " No indeed, Socrates ..." manner- 
 isms, or if modern typical names are translated into 
 Greek or Latin (why Latin ? though I have seen it) 
 equivalents. 
 
 In which connection I think it is a very clever 
 minor point that after a first reading one remembers 
 only Roderick's Christian name, Norman's surname, 
 and both Christian and surname of Harry Knollys. 
 
 It seems to me a very interesting point that you 
 coupled individual human love and friendship with 
 science — the representation of truth as truth — (for 
 one can't call Roderick's feeling more than affection- 
 ateness), and that you gave to Norman too more 
 power of understanding and being understood in the 
 less developed days, than to the representative of 
 Religion, in the individual case ; but that later 
 Knollys has such a far wider outlook and power of 
 understanding the better elements in human nature, 
 
 405
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 and being able to make them respond to him — 
 through a so much wider range of humanity. 
 
 And yet you have made Roderick the means of 
 bringing the three together, and his flashes of per- 
 ceptive genius are delightful and his mistakes, such 
 as expecting Harry Knoll3's to address his sermon to 
 himself and Fred Norman. The setting is very 
 pretty too — and the scrap of country talk (though I 
 believe black hens lay white eggs, and it is a matter 
 of breed). 
 
 Your book reminded me of Dickinson's " Meaning 
 of Good." I read yours faster than I wished — I 
 wanted to save it up — nor is it so full in content, I 
 think. As far as I remember he thinks that atliletics 
 are felt to be the chief good in youth, and then hasn't 
 he turris scicniiae, turris artis, and turris cordis, 
 the progressive soul going from the first into the 
 second and then into the third ? I don't remember 
 that he has any view about religion, but as I had to 
 read it quickly, I cannot trust my memory of it 
 much. 
 
 Your loving sister, 
 
 Margaret Benson. 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Wimbledon. 
 March 31st, 1915. 
 
 My dear Arthur, 
 
 I must write and thank you for having your 
 memoir of Hugh sent to me. I have been reading it 
 with very great interest, I suppose, comparativel}' to 
 his great outburst of intellectual activity later, his 
 intellectual powers were somewhat in abeyance in 
 earlier life, after he went to Eton — he won the 
 
 406
 
 THE LAST YEARS 
 
 scholarship only om the second attempt, and wasn't 
 placed high — still he did win a prize poem at Eton 
 though he left early — he published poems in some 
 American Magazine before he went to Cambridge, I 
 think ; he wrote little articles in some small maga- 
 zine on the early fathers, I think, and considering, 
 the fact that his work was interrupted by trying for 
 the Indian Civil Service (during that time he learnt 
 enough Italian to debate in it, and to talk to Count 
 Campello when he came to the Lambeth Garden 
 Party) and then by beginning to study for the 
 Classical Tripos, do you think a third in the Theo- 
 logical Tripos was low ? — he read the Gospel at his 
 Ordination of course, as being the best candidate in 
 the way of attainments, I believe most decidedly so. 
 I know he was sometimes vehement in argument 
 because he felt things so strongly. In one of the 
 cases you quoted he was arguing against criticism of 
 the individual — yet he was quite extraordinarily 
 patient with one constantly, both in talking and 
 in writing ; though he could speak or write sternly 
 too, he seldom wrote sternly. I am sorry he felt 
 that he had deficiencies which made him shy with 
 other people — I suppose he did not know how in- 
 spiring a companion he was, even when one quarrelled 
 with him — which I regret so much having done. 
 He was very good to me. I think you give the 
 picture of a most vital personality, as he was — in 
 fact life seems to have died out of the world now. 
 Even after the illnesses he went through, and his 
 absences, still he came back, but if he comes back 
 no more, life seems dead. Yet it was a splendid 
 way to die in the middle of his work. But he was the 
 only person in those years who gave one any sense of 
 
 407
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 religion — and one felt the love of God was the essence 
 of it, and the love of humanity came next. I don't 
 mean a blank undifferentiated equal liking — there 
 were people he disliked very much, no doubt, but 
 he was always ready to help. I think it was a 
 wonder how he did manage to enjoy of late years, 
 with all the various difficulties:, troubles, and illness, 
 strain — and such a fearful pressure of work. Even 
 when he was recovering from the operation, he had 
 people come to see and ask him things — Father 
 Maturin came to ask him some question about 
 Rome one of the days I went to see him at Hamp- 
 stead. 
 
 There are, of course, things I don't agree with. 
 I don't think that the truth is expressed by saying 
 that he had no interest in social institutions or politics 
 so much, as that for these to be any good he felt the}' 
 must be inspired by religion — that was his primary 
 interest — he was interested in politics, for instance, 
 when the religious question came in, and in this 
 war ; he told me he did not want to die before the 
 end of it ; he hoped the " allies " would dictate 
 terms of peace to Germany in Berlin. Perhaps he 
 never knew I did care about him, or appreciate his 
 intense kindness. 
 
 Fred has been good in coming to see me. He 
 told me you were going to Tremans for Easter. I 
 went to see a little play of his last week — it was 
 amusing. 
 
 How one longs for the old days, imperfect as 
 they were — but one has no confidence that one would 
 live them better. 
 
 Your loving sister, 
 
 Margaret Benson. 
 408
 
 THE LAST YEARS 
 
 {To her Brother Arthur.) 
 
 Wimbledon. 
 June 5, 1915. 
 
 You say the whole house was full of memories, 
 happy enough at the time, but you didn't want it 
 back again. One couldn't imagine, of course, 
 having it back again ; what one does want is some 
 worthy outcome of the happier memories, not from 
 feeling that what is separating one now from one's 
 contemporaries, from the best of the spirit of the 
 past, from any realit}^ of home again or even from 
 any idea of home life was at work even then, while 
 the consciousness of the spirits of the children that 
 we were was only graduall}^ unfolding. 
 
 At last a physical malady of the heart developed, 
 and once or twice her mind was cleared of all 
 delusion ; but her strength slowly declined. In 
 the last week of her life, she woke one morning and 
 said to her nurse with a radiant smile, " Eureka ! " 
 (I have found) " God is in the world ; He is love ; 
 it is all love ! " She spent two very happy days with 
 my mother and brother full of talk and humorous 
 stories and old recollections. The storms had passed 
 over, leaving a bright sky at the last. She was 
 once more as she had been before she went down 
 into the darkness. " She was just her old self," 
 writes my mother, " and most affectionate ; she 
 quoted Browning, and soon, in the old way, began 
 to look for ' Principles ' of Love itself." On the 
 next day she had a long and quiet talk to my mother, 
 about Our Saviour at Gethsemane. In the evening, 
 
 409
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 the last evening of her life, she recurred much to 
 earlier days, quoted old jokes and told old stories 
 to my mother and Lucy Tait with immense 
 delight. She might, the doctor said afterwards, 
 have died at any moment. She said good-bye very 
 cheerfully to my mother, making lier promise to 
 return early on the next day. " Promise you will 
 come before I die," she said ; she told her nurse 
 to call her early, so that she might not lose a 
 minute of the talk. " I must go on with that talk." 
 " Well, I have had a happy day ! " she said presently ; 
 and a little later the nurse heard her say softly to 
 herself : 
 
 " As pants the hart for coohng streams 
 When heated in the chase. 
 So longs my soul, O God, for Thee 
 And Thy refreshing grace." 
 
 She spoke no more, and fell quietly asleep. In 
 the early hours of the morning she stirred, moved sf 
 little, but did not awaken, and in a moment ceased 
 to breathe. The order of release had come at last. 
 
 Her body rested for three nights in the crypt of 
 the chapel at Lambeth, and on the following 
 afternoon she was buried beside her sister at 
 Addington on a bright day of May — not a day of 
 mourning, but a festival of joy. 
 
 I remember how, as we stood beside her grave, 
 a dove rose with beating wings out of a tree close at 
 hand, soared into the air, and flew blithely to the 
 deeper woodland. The beautiful words of Chateau- 
 briand came to my mind, " Fly hence, happy bird, 
 to the shadow of the pines ! " — and then again I 
 remembered the verse, " My soul is escaped even 
 as a bird from the snare of the fowler ; the snare is 
 broken and we are delivered." 
 
 410
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 BOOKS 
 
 Some writers of books, those to whom literature 
 is the best and final expression of their criticism of 
 life, put all their strength and sweetness and lightness 
 into books, and have in consequence little of such 
 qualities to spare for life. But spirits with a wider 
 range, to whom books are but small fragments and 
 broken reflections of the life-current, use books partly 
 as a little anchor to work, and partly to summarise 
 thoughts that cannot be exactly distributed in 
 conversation. It was a great good fortune for 
 Maggie that she was brought up by my mother. 
 My mother, though I may frankly say that she has 
 great imaginative power and remarkable gifts of 
 expression in speech and letter-writing, both epigram- 
 matic and suggestive, had no training for writing, 
 and her married life began so early, was so filled by 
 companionship with my father, whose nature de- 
 manded a partner at once sympathetic and critical, 
 by social duties, and by the care and teaching of her 
 children, that she was never tempted away from life 
 into literary work. Thus Maggie had always life 
 itself in view, and her books were only a kind of 
 by-play for leisure hours. Moreover Maggie's own 
 emotions and affections were always the central 
 
 411
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 fact of her life, and she gave to her friends what 
 others put into their books. Then, too, her life was 
 much broken into by social duties, ill-health, travel, 
 and she had seldom time to concentrate herself. 
 Moreover she worked very slowly, adding touch to 
 touch ; and though she had a story-telling gift, 
 much delicate observation, and a keen eye for both 
 pathetic and humorous incidents, she had not, I 
 believe, either great imaginative power, or the 
 dramatic faculty of contrasting and marshalling 
 characters. 
 
 I always think that " Subject to Vanity " and 
 " The Soul of a Cat " show a great power of psycho- 
 logical analysis, together with one very marked 
 literary aptitude, the power of leaving off with a 
 snap, and never trailing her subject indecisively off 
 the scene. Her lesser writings, such as the manual 
 on Capital and Labour, and the tractate on Christian 
 Science, are clear and thorough. What she always 
 wished to do, what in a manner she accomplished, 
 was to write a book on religious experience of a 
 philosophical kind ; and the result of many years of 
 thought and study i:. to be found in " The Venture 
 of Rational Faith." 
 
 This is a book which I am quite incapable of 
 criticising, if not of comprehending, though I am 
 able to discern its lofty and suggestive quality. I 
 have therefore asked my cousin Stewart McDowall, 
 who, perhaps, more than anyone else discussed the 
 subject with my sister, to send me a few paragraphs 
 about it. He writes : — 
 
 " Fifteen years before ' The Venture of Rational 
 Faith ' was completed, Maggie sat doMTi to write a 
 
 412
 
 BOOKS 
 
 book of Christian apologetic — and never wrote it. 
 This was to be expected, for she was by nature no 
 believer in the ordinary method of apologetic, which 
 to her was vitiated at the source. Her mind was 
 too clear to rest satisfied with any argument based 
 on a contradiction, as a completely logical apolo- 
 getic must be. 
 
 '' Instead, she turned to the convergence of evi- 
 dence. One line of thought was followed as far as 
 seemed legitimate, and then another. She was 
 content to prove that many radii converged towards 
 one centre ; and was not at all deterred by the inevi- 
 table fact that they could not be completely traced 
 and connected. 
 
 " Quite clearly she showed that there must be a 
 venture in the long run ; but a venture of hope, or 
 reasonable faith, not doubt. 
 
 " By infinite subdivision and consideration of 
 states, one can get at an approximation, but know- 
 ledge will never achieve truth — there must be a 
 venture, even of rational faith — this is her central 
 theme ; and I take it that she desired to indicate the 
 gradation of rational approach, in order to give a 
 good ' take-off ' for the necessary leap. 
 
 " Maggie was thoroughly alive both to the impli- 
 cation of her method, and its necessity, as her use of 
 one of the Eleatic paradoxes shows. Reckoning 
 always by fractions and infinitesimal parts, Achilles 
 would never catch the tortoise. Yet even so it is 
 clear that they get closer together. But make the 
 bold leap ; take the whole, instead of laboriously 
 adding fraction to smaller fraction ; and in a dozen 
 paces Achilles has passed the tortoise. 
 
 ''Following her method, she turns with remarkable 
 
 413
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 versatility from one aspect of life and thought to 
 another, and deals adequately with all, with many 
 brilliantly. Yet all the time it is a point of view she 
 inculcates ; she does not furnish a proof. The 
 venture must be made ; only let it be with open 
 eyes ! 
 
 " Here and there lurk traces of the earlier apolo- 
 getic intention — then we are conscious of a certain 
 inadequacy, as is natural, for they are vestiges out- 
 grown, and foreign to the real purpose of the book. 
 But in the main, as in her letters, she is concerned to 
 formulate right principles of religious thought — 
 ' learning's crabbed text ' — leaving to the experi- 
 ence of life ' the comment.' 
 
 " Perhaps the most striking feature of the whole 
 is its sheer commonsense and clarity. There is 
 hardly a single instance of question-begging or of 
 circular argument ; and an admirable terseness that 
 is sometimes epigrammatic gives keen pleasure to 
 the reader. Often in one short paragraph, such as 
 that on the doctrine of Karma (p. 202) a few words 
 lay bare the root-principles of a doctrine. 
 
 " No doubt the proportions of the work are not 
 perfect, but that is inevitable when so much ground 
 has to be covered in a moderate number of pages ; 
 and this objection, besides, loses much of its force 
 when the character of the book is understood. 
 Comparative weakness in one section or another 
 affects the whole but little. 
 
 " Maggie's private letters on matters connected 
 with the philosophy of religion are coloured with her 
 irresistible humour, trenchant or merely laughter- 
 bringing, but always wise. In ' The Venture of 
 Rational Faith,' she writes with a more restrained 
 
 414
 
 BOOKS 
 
 pen, but the same humour peeps out occasionally, 
 especially in the preface. Nevertheless I cannot 
 help wishing she had not exercised so strict a censor- 
 ship. Without humour the book would be a very 
 imperfect reflection of a great personality ; and it 
 is as the reflection of a human mind, singularly 
 complete as well as singularly able, and as the 
 portrayal of its reasoning and its faith, that ' The 
 Venture of Rational Faith,' is vivifying and sug- 
 gestive in so great a degree." 
 
 The books, then, which my sister left, do not in 
 any sense, I think, cover the whole ground of her 
 mind. Her philosophical and religious position is 
 defined ; while the books about animals just show 
 her minute and scientific power of amassing and 
 interpreting detail, and give a glimpse of her recog- 
 nition of the wonder and strangeness and beauty 
 of life. But they form only illustrations of sides of 
 her character, and do not fully represent her. They 
 neither exhibit her deepest affections, nor her 
 religious life, nor her devotion to duty. Her sense 
 of the beauty of nature found expression in her 
 painting. Many of her little sketches hang on my 
 walls, and have a high poetical quality. Even in 
 her last illness she retained her swift and subtle 
 touch, and I have a little watercolour sketch of hers, 
 done on her last visit to Falmouth, of a tract of 
 pastureland intersected by hedges and fringed with 
 copses, all seen over the blue waters of the great 
 estuary, which seems to express in its delicacy and 
 feeling a deep longing for something which life 
 had once given her and which she had lost awhile. 
 
 But the emotions which filled her heart, her 
 
 415
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 desire for the presence and talk of those whom she 
 loved, from these she could not, I believe, sufficiently 
 separate herself to make any spectatorial use of 
 them. They were too urgent and vital, they meant 
 too much. I always believe that dramatic creation 
 is as a rule the work of people who perceive delicately 
 rather than feel deeply. I mean that unless a nature 
 can isolate itself and see life with a certain hardness 
 and toughness, the contact with emotion is too 
 tragic a thing to be represented or lightly talked 
 about. To JMaggie, emotion was too vivid a thing 
 to allow her to perceive its artistic quality ; what the 
 artist has to do is not to quarry out the stuff of his 
 own soul, but to work experience into something 
 symbolical into which others can read their own 
 emotions. Maggie was too reserved, too reverent 
 to use her own experience so ; while her analysis 
 of character was scientific rather than creative. 
 Thus she was silent about the matters which were 
 her closest concern, and of her love and suffering there 
 was no self-made memorial. It must be inferred 
 rather than told, and the sacred depths must remain 
 unplumbcd, in a mystery of which one is at least 
 aware that the hidden fire and glow of it was some- 
 thing far mightier and stronger than the little 
 sparkles that broke from the prow, as it mounted 
 the dancing waves of childhood and youth, or 
 laboured among the great breakers of sorrow through 
 which she took her solitary way. 
 
 416
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 CHARACTER 
 
 My sister had, I do not doubt, a great intellect, 
 both clear and profound. Her memory was strong 
 and accurate, and she had a firm grasp of any pro- 
 blem, however complicated, to which she addressed 
 herself in her quiet and deliberate fashion. In 
 economics, which were only a side-study, she not 
 only saw principles lucidly, but with a sense of their 
 proportion and value, while she had a comprehensive 
 grasp of detail. It was the same with all her 
 subjects ; in Egyptology, she acquired a great 
 knowledge of historical and archaeological detail; 
 in Biblical study, she followed developments of 
 modern criticism with a keen interest, but never 
 lost sight of the fact that religion is a very different 
 thing from a knowledge of its history and its varying 
 tendencies. In philosophy, which was I think her 
 most constant interest, she had a very accurate 
 knowledge of different systems, and a clear con- 
 ception of philosophical ideas. If she had been a 
 man she would, I do not doubt, have been a great 
 student, and might have done valuable philosophical 
 work. But as things were, these pursuits were to 
 her private interests, which she followed for her 
 own delight, when leisure permitted. She had a 
 
 417 2 E
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 great faculty of working on quietly and alone, and 
 was not in the least dependent on intellectual sym- 
 pathy and companionship. These various branches 
 of work were always waiting in the background. 
 She never made them an excuse for not performing 
 practical duties. She took them up sedately and 
 unhurriedly, but was always willing to lay them 
 aside, without the least irritability or disappointment, 
 if anything came in her way, a piece of organisation 
 or administration, an appeal for sympathy or help, 
 a human companionship, a little domestic detail. 
 She seldom talked about her work, never appeared 
 burdened by it or absorbed in it, never brandished 
 it in the face of an intruder. She had indeed, I 
 always thought, a serener tolerance for interruptions 
 than anyone I knew. At the time, for instance, 
 when I was writing my father's life, in the middle 
 of hard work as a boarding-house master and tutor, 
 the help she gave me was inestimable. There were 
 certain complicated episodes in my father's life, 
 notably the Lincoln Judgment, involving a minute 
 acquaintance with ecclesiastical law and usage, and 
 passing through intricate stages of legal procedure, 
 which could hardly be mastered except by conver- 
 sations with experts to whom the difficulties and 
 details were familiar. All this she took quietly 
 in hand, and had long and careful talks with the 
 present Archbishop, with the result that she smoothed 
 out all the complexities, and presented me with a 
 compact statement of the essential facts, perfectly 
 arranged. She also subjected the whole book to 
 the most minute detailed criticism at every stage, 
 which was of the utmost value. 
 
 But besides this intellectual grasp, she had a 
 418
 
 CHARACTER 
 
 great gift for organisation and administration. 
 She did not merely sketch out a fruitfu] idea, and 
 leave it to others to work out the details. In her 
 various schemes for Biblical Study, the St. Paul 
 Association, the Vacation Term meetings, the 
 Archbishop's Diploma for women, she undertook 
 correspondence, she made arrangements, she drew 
 up syllabuses and lists of books, she directed 
 workers, she spared herself no drudgery. If her 
 health had allow^ed, she might have been a very 
 effective Principal of a Woman's College, because 
 she could have lectured, managed finances, directed 
 a staff of officials, while she would never have lost 
 her personal interest in and sympathy with indi- 
 viduals. She had, in fact, inherited a large share 
 of my father's extraordinary gift for organisation 
 together with his personal ascendency and active 
 guidance. She felt, indeed, an overpowering sense 
 of responsibility for the lives and characters of those 
 with whom she was brought into contact, and blamed 
 herself severely if things went wrong with them. 
 But this influence was never obtruded. She shrank 
 from censuring or finding fault, though she could 
 speak and write sternly, if necessary ; and she was 
 entirely free from the temptation to which masterful 
 natures are prone, of having their influence recognised 
 and deferred to. She did desire to exercise influence, 
 and I have had much correspondence with her at 
 various times about particular cases, entanglements, 
 misunderstandings, perversities of conduct, habits 
 insensibly acquired. In all these cases she felt a 
 deep desire to effect something, but it was always 
 done with a sensitive tact ; and instead of inter- 
 fering personally, she planned very anxiously that 
 
 419
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 criticism should reach the person concerned through 
 natural and obvious channels, so as to avoid suspicion 
 and resentment, and above all, humiliation. 
 
 Strongest of all was her emotional nature ; 
 she was deeply and loyally affectionate, and her 
 friendships and loves were by far the deepest and 
 strongest part of her life. Besides her family letters, 
 I have had before me her correspondence with one 
 of her closest friends, Miss Nettie Gourlay, who 
 excavated with her, helped to write the big Egyptian 
 book, and assisted her in many enterprises. Miss 
 Gourlay was a great invalid and suffered much 
 from disabling illness. But she had a deep capacity 
 for affection, a warm and generous heart, and a 
 clear and strong judgment. The letters, from which 
 I have often quoted, reveal the deepest and tenderest 
 devotion. My sister depended greatly upon Miss 
 Gourlay's calmness and courage and her clearness 
 of vision. Maggie was well aware of her own 
 weaknesses. For her emotions were easily stirred, 
 overmastering her judgment and preventing swift 
 insight into character. She felt things with an 
 exaggerated sensitiveness, and here Miss Gourlay's 
 balance and serenity and patience helped her 
 greatly. 
 
 But Maggie herself combined with this power of 
 idealising and worshipping her friends a faculty 
 which is not often found in combination with deep 
 affection. She had a profound interest in varieties 
 of character as well as a great sense of humour ; 
 and there was no one who could, after the first intense 
 attraction had mellowed, survey her friends more 
 dispassionately and critically, note their faults 
 and failures in a dry intellectual light, understand 
 
 420
 
 CHARACTER 
 
 the balance and proportion of a temperament, 
 and yet never for a moment be untrue to her 
 affection. She cared intensely about reality, and 
 had no fancy for illusions. She never thought 
 it a treachery to see a friend in the brightest 
 light, and though she loved loyalty, she did 
 not condone faults or wish to be luxuriously 
 blind. And here it was that her strength lay. She 
 used to blame herself for a constitutional timidity, 
 and think that she ought sometimes to have spoken 
 more freely and frankly. But this beautiful reti- 
 cence and reserve gave an added strength to her 
 sympathy, because her affection was the one obvious 
 and visible thing, and no one had ever any cause to 
 fear her arbitrary interference. At the same time, 
 if one confessed or deplored a weakness, it was found 
 to have been noted, and she did not seek to reassure 
 you by pretending that she was not aware of it, 
 but proffered not only sympathy, but often indeed 
 the frankest admission that she recognised the same 
 fault in herself, and had devised ways of meeting 
 and curing it. The frankness of friendship is a 
 difficult matter. If it is intrusive or critical, it 
 may be wholesome, but it is apt to terminate the 
 relation. Few friendships survive obvious disap- 
 proval ; and indeed if it is spontaneously stated, 
 it is generally a clear enough sign that a friendship 
 is wearing thin. But though I myself, in the years 
 when I was nearest to Maggie, spoke and corre- 
 sponded freely with her about our personal failures 
 and deficiencies, I never had the uneasy sense that 
 she was likely to indulge in criticism, though she could 
 give it faithfully and tenderly if it was asked for. 
 At one time, however, it may honestly be said, 
 421
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 her critical faculty showed signs of lifting its head. 
 This was a curious psychological problem. During 
 my father's lifetime, I believe that Maggie lived in 
 some awe of him. She loved him, I think, better 
 than she understood him. His own displeasure, 
 when it came, was extremely disconcerting and awe- 
 inspiring. He was never aware how much powder, 
 so to speak, he put into his gun, and a comment, 
 which he perhaps meant to be light and sympathetic, 
 had often the effect of suggesting a deep reserve 
 of severity. Maggie was extremely sensitive, and 
 anything like anger or sternness produced a bewilder- 
 ing and silencing effect upon her, quenching her 
 gaiety and spontaneity. If she could have met my 
 father, as my sister Nellie did, with a mixture of 
 gaiety and courage and concern and deference, no 
 harm would have been done. But Maggie so shrank 
 from a scene, or from any evidence of severity, that 
 she never gave my father her full confidence, though 
 they were much devoted to each other, and he had 
 a great respect for her powers. 
 
 When he died, I think that for a time the instinct 
 which she undoubtedly had for making herself 
 felt, somewhat emerged, and she tended to criticise 
 more unsparingly than had been her wont other 
 people's schemes of life. I may quote a small 
 instance. When I was editing Queen Victoria's 
 letters, I found that it was not possible to work 
 with clearness and accuracy for more than a certain 
 number of hours in the day. After that the detail 
 grew blurred. I found refreshment in writing the 
 Upton Letters out of my imagination and experience. 
 Among her letters I find one to Miss Gourlay about 
 me, saying that she is alarmed at my state of mind, 
 
 422
 
 CHARACTER 
 
 that I am avowedly writing a book in which I refuse 
 to submit to the least drudgery, and that she fears 
 that my freedom from settled work is having a 
 deteriorating effect upon me. This is an instance 
 of a morbid judgment ; because the book was 
 being deliberately written as a contrast to the close 
 and tense drudgery which was involved in the 
 reading and selecting from a vast and intricate 
 correspondence. 
 
 It was really, I am sure, the effect upon her of 
 the removal of my father's extraordinary personal 
 dominance, and a singular instance of a suppressed 
 faculty emerging from subordination. It may 
 partly too have been the obscure pressure of her 
 final malady showing itself, but in the ten years, 
 very happy for the most part, between my father's 
 death and her own collapse, there were times when 
 she disquieted herself and tormented herself, unduly 
 and unreasonably, about her relations with her 
 immediate circle, felt that she was not doing her 
 duty, not bearing testimony, not using her influence 
 boldly, while at the same time she mistrusted and 
 criticised the standards and methods of her nearest 
 and dearest. She was aware, I know, that these 
 were moods ; when they cleared away, she spoke 
 humorously and conciliatorily about them, and 
 confessed with admirable frankness that she did 
 not do justice to other theories of life. But this 
 Puritanical element in her cannot be disregarded. 
 In spite of her tenderness and sympathy she was 
 not at all indulgent to what seemed to her to be 
 moral weakness or laxity, in herself or in others. 
 She disliked and contemned it, and hardly realised 
 how much more effective her eager delight in 
 
 423
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 companionship and confidence was than her moods 
 of disapproval. 
 
 Her intellectual vision was clear and profound, 
 and here her control was both complete and delicate, 
 but over her emotions she never had the same 
 instinctive control ; they often carried her far out of 
 her course for a time, and caused her great perplexity. 
 Yet even so it must be added that this was not the 
 case with those who sought help from her, with them 
 she was always clear-sighted, wise, and kind. 
 
 She had an extraordinary power of sympathy 
 as well as of inspiration ; and those who knew 
 her and loved her and were loved by her in 
 return, found her fine judgment and clear sight, 
 not less than her anxious good will and passionate 
 devotion, at once the controlling and sustaining 
 and uplifting force of their lives. 
 
 A friend writes — 
 
 " One of Maggie's most marked characteristics 
 was her extraordinary generosity. It showed itself 
 continually and continuously and seemed so entirely 
 taken for granted by her that I am sure she was 
 hardly aware of it. ' Generosity ' is perhaps an 
 ambiguous word and hardly expresses what I mean. 
 Many people are generous ; to most people the mere 
 act of giving is a pleasure. Hers was rather the 
 joy of sharing. She could make it a real joy to 
 receive ; and this I think is a much rarer quality. 
 And all with the same child-like unconsciousness, 
 as though her gifts had come to her by a mere 
 chance and she shared them with others as an obvious 
 act of justice. Nor was such help given impulsively 
 and then put out of mind. Maggie would spend 
 uncounted time and thought and trouble over a 
 
 424
 
 CHARACTER 
 
 case, would weigh and adjudge the facts with the 
 piercing insight which she possessed, and then act 
 with a liberality which was neither more nor less 
 than amazing considering the claims which were 
 daily made upon her and how many she thus dealt 
 with. And not for her friends alone would she 
 do this, but for friends' friends, even those who were 
 only names to her ; and not on one occasion 
 only, but again and again as fresh developments 
 brought fresh needs. A brother of one of Maggie's 
 friends lost his work through intemperance ; but 
 the case did not seem hopeless at first, for it was 
 thought that he might pull himself together and make 
 a fresh start. But while he was looking for work 
 he was unable to send the money with which he had 
 helped to support his mother, and moreover came for 
 his own maintenance to his young married sister, who 
 was at her wits' end to know how to deal with the 
 situation, being unable to afford to keep him but 
 having no heart either to turn him adrift or to tell 
 the bad news to the mother. Maggie had never 
 even seen the man ; but she heard the story and 
 acted with the resource and generosity which were 
 so absolutely characteristic. She tried through her 
 brothers to get literary work for him in the first 
 place, and when he proved hopeless in this way 
 tried to get him into touch first with one temperance 
 expert and then with another in order to try to effect 
 a cure. On another occasion a friend's friend lost his 
 work through misfortune and it was necessary that he 
 should at once earn a living in some new way. He 
 decided to become a typist, and Maggie, on hearing 
 this, immediately lent him her own typewriter, sent 
 him work, and got other people to do the same. 
 
 425
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 Again and again she paid the expenses of those 
 who came from a distance to stay with her, and 
 sent help to those upon whom a sudden burden 
 might be thrown, or who were overtaken by some 
 illness or misfortune. I could go on relating such 
 instances by the score out of my own personal 
 knowledge ; for I often wrote letters at Maggie's 
 dictation which dealt with them, and never wrote 
 without inward wonder and amazement, but the 
 real number and extent will never be told or even 
 dreamed of. And it was not in material ways only 
 that this characteristic generosity was shown, nor 
 even in the sympathy and tenderness which went 
 with the gift. I believe that if it had been possible 
 she would have shared her intellectual possessions 
 in the same way, just as her brother Hugh really 
 enjoyed trying to teach some one else ' how to write 
 a story,' supplied the main materials for such a work, 
 and took for granted that it should appear under the 
 name of another. So, too, I have known IMaggie take 
 endless trouble to look up and verify facts for some- 
 one who was writing an article and was stuck for 
 lack of accurate knowledge. She would at any 
 time correct or advise upon a piece of writing 
 submitted to her and would make notes and sugges- 
 tions which would perhaps add incalculable value 
 to the whole, and then return the MSS. to the sender 
 and perhaps forget the matter entirely. She would 
 lend books or lend her sketches to be copied, or 
 would discuss by post with others the difficulties 
 that arose in their careers, and advise and help in 
 all sorts of crises." 
 
 Her humour was constant and permeated all she 
 426
 
 CHARACTER 
 
 said, but when she was really ill, it had a way of 
 vanishing. She said once to me that it did not go 
 down to the bottom of her mind, and that left to 
 herself she was uncompromisingly serious. She spoke 
 of it as a mood, created by sunshine and company 
 and casual absurdities. She could not abide light 
 humour or jocosity, and said once gravely that 
 Dickens made her feel sick, because she disliked 
 everything farcical. In this she much resembled 
 my father. Her wit was rare and rather caustic, 
 and she gave apt and severe names to acquaintances. 
 One frequent visitor, with a meek and dim and 
 rueful face, she named " the waning moon," and 
 another severe and bustling lady, with a tendency 
 to improve and censure the world at large, she called 
 " the Governess General." She did not delight in 
 incongruities, nor was she amused by them ; but, 
 on the other hand, when she was confronted with 
 some really ridiculous event, she could abandon 
 herself to helpless and exhausting laughter. 
 
 My brother Fred remembers how at Aix he played 
 at the game of p'tits chevaux and won twenty francs. 
 She was shocked at this, and remonstrated with 
 some severity. When she had finished, my brother 
 meekly offered her three francs to mitigate her 
 disapproval. Maggie, after struggling with sudden 
 laughter, said that it was not enough, but added that 
 she thought she might be able to dismiss the matter 
 from her mind for four francs. 
 
 But as a rule in quiet talk she inclined, I used to 
 think, towards fanciful, poetical, beautiful images 
 rather than the directly humorous ; yet her touch 
 was always light, and a touch of something caustic, 
 ironical and bracing saved her from any weakness 
 
 427
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 of sentiment. Indeed, I know no one so emotional 
 and tender who was yet so free from sentiment. 
 She was not demonstrative, and perhaps the very 
 last word which could ever have been used of her 
 was " gushing." Her talk was restrained and 
 reserved, and there was always a sense that she 
 had said less than was in her mind, perhaps because 
 she was more interested in evoking her companion's 
 point of view^ than in expressing her own ; while 
 the little incisive flash of her words, often accom- 
 panied by a characteristic little smile, gave a singular 
 freshness to her talk. 
 
 I remember in the later days in one of the last 
 talks I had with her, she was reproaching herself 
 with having often been unkind to Hugh. I asked 
 for an instance. She said in reply that when he 
 was a little boy, he had seen a conjurer allow himself 
 to be tied up hand and foot with cords, and then a 
 screen being placed before him, he emerged in a 
 moment free, with the cords in his hands. Hugh 
 had insisted one day that she should tie him up to 
 a yew-tree in the shrubbery, and he would loose 
 himself. She did so and forgot all about him. At 
 tea he was missing, and she hurried out. Hugh was 
 still very firmly attached to the yew-tree, hot and 
 red in the face with his struggles and deeply indignant. 
 
 " That was the sort of thing I mean," she added. 
 
 I said that Hugh was the last person to nourish 
 grievances, and that no one would have been more 
 heartily amused at the recollection than himself. 
 
 She gave a little smile, and said, " That is rather 
 an incomplete idea of repentance, isn't it, if you are 
 not to regret a wrong you have done because your 
 victim is too good to resent it ? " 
 
 428
 
 CHARACTER 
 
 My sister had in a supreme degree that elusive 
 quality which is called distinction. It was not only 
 that her intellect was clear and strong, her interests 
 eager and various, her sympathies quick and deep. 
 I have known men and women with these qualities 
 singly and even in combination who have certainly 
 lacked distinction. Nor was it only a harmon}^ 
 of life, the holding of many issues in a serene pro- 
 portion. It was not so with my sister, for though 
 she had a serenity of air and method, hers was far 
 from being a serene nature. She was sensitive and 
 anxious, her responsibilities weighed upon her, her 
 impulses strove together. She did not limit herself 
 to a single line — indeed, she might have achieved 
 a more solid and tangible work if she had done so. 
 But her output was baffled and checked by the free- 
 dom of her response to every call of duty and affection. 
 
 There was a certain mysteriousness about her, 
 not calculated or dramatic, but a sense that she 
 moved in a higher atmosphere, and held much 
 in reserve. She seemed, when you caught a glimpse 
 of her mind and heart, to be finely tempered and 
 deeply discriminating. Her standards were fine, 
 her judgment was penetrating and unfettered, she 
 did not waste time in quarrelling with conventions, 
 and yet was not in the least conventional. This 
 was the secret of her appeal and her influence ; 
 because, though she welcomed comradeship and 
 friendly contact, there was always the sense that 
 her vision was penetrating and her approval not 
 easily to be won. Yet she did not seem to rate her 
 own ideals highly or to be in the least degree conscious 
 of superiority — in fact, she suffered from the sense of 
 ineffectiveness and inadequacy. 
 
 429
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 The strength of my sister's life lay in the fact 
 that all sensitive and perceptive natures who came 
 in contact with her recognised in her a spirit of 
 stainless beauty which by its strength and sweetness 
 and rarity revealed a further horizon, and touched 
 to light the truer and larger issues of life. She 
 suffered much and patiently ; she was often in dire 
 perplexity and weakness and despondency ; but 
 there was never a dreary lapse into cynicism or 
 sentiment or fruitlessness, but the result of feeling 
 deeply, and desiring greatly, and striving to discern 
 what was best through many conflicting trials. She 
 was, I think, one of those spirits which mark very 
 surely the progress of the world, because she belonged 
 to its future peace rather than to its present warfare. 
 She paid a heavy price for this, but though sorely 
 baffled and tormented, she did not live or suffer in 
 vain. 
 
 One of her friends wrote to me not long ago about 
 her death, and spoke of " her gentle, luminous life, 
 a mind clear and calm, though so eager and gene- 
 rous." That is beautifully said, and wholly true ; 
 but it does not contain the whole truth, because it 
 does not include one very marked characteristic — 
 her moral strength, her courage, and indeed her 
 sternness. It was this weighty element in the back- 
 ground, seldom emphasized, never obtruded, but 
 yet undeniably there, which made her approval 
 desired and welcomed, because it was not easily or 
 lightly given. Her strength and courage were both 
 evoked by the circumstances of her life. Many 
 women in her position, threatened first of all with a 
 crippling disease, and afterwards confronted with 
 an illness both weakening and humiliating, would 
 
 430
 
 CHARACTER 
 
 have sunk into a life of helpless invalidism ; but 
 she threw herself with energy and determination 
 into excavation, work, and practical schemes. 
 
 If she had held an official position, or taken work 
 as a teacher, I am sure that her severity would have 
 come out. It would not have been constantly in 
 evidence. Sensitive herself to an acute degree, she 
 had a deep dislike to inflicting pain ; but she had a 
 fund of moral indignation, and though her anger 
 would have been rarely roused, it would have had 
 the immense effect which the ultimate sternness of 
 very gentle people ends by having. Professor Scott 
 Holland, writing of Dean Church, who was the 
 kindest and gentlest of men, describes the over- 
 powering effect of his wrath when he was obliged 
 to censure a flagrant offender for some moral obli- 
 quity — his pallor, his agitation, his terrible disdain, 
 — a mood which, the Professor said, threw a strange 
 light for him upon the mysterious phrase, " the 
 wrath of the Lamb." 
 
 My sister, tolerant, sympathetic, finely-tempered 
 as she was, made no terms with evil and did not 
 condone it. She had a scorn and disgust for sensual, 
 brutal, headstrong faults, and there are sentences in 
 her letters about people whom she really mistrusted 
 and disliked which stand out in fierce contrast to 
 her habitual amiability. There was something of 
 a priestly character about her, a consecration to 
 pure and high ideals, and a consciousness of the 
 conflict with evil which is irivolved in living in 
 obedience to a moral standard, however secluded 
 and remote from the world such a life may be. 
 
 As a rule, if her help was sought, she had a 
 tentative and suggestive manner, letting one talk 
 
 431
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 on, guiding and consolidating the argument, but 
 letting one make out one's own case and one's own 
 cure. Her comments were fruitful and sowed a seed 
 of thought, while she attracted great confidence by 
 her beautiful smile, which began in her eyes, and 
 lingered over her firm, small lips. But her lips 
 were extremely impressive, and there was a do\vn- 
 ward curl of the lower lip which was well known to 
 me whenever she spoke of mean, unjust, treacherous 
 conduct, which conveyed a sense of abhorrence and 
 even hostility, very clearly and definitely. 
 
 I am sure that her best work for individuals was 
 done by stimulus and encouragement, because, 
 without the least sense of superiority or impatience, 
 you yet felt that she had gone deeper, seen further, 
 felt more profoundly. She was not baffled by 
 dilemmas or conflicting claims, because in philosophy 
 and religion alike she had dug the foundations deep, 
 and the truth, as she saw it, was not a shifting thing, 
 which could be adapted and modified, but a real 
 design, proportioned and deliberately constructed. 
 She did not take either a strictly intellectual or a 
 merely emotional view of moral questions, but com- 
 bined both aspects as firmly as any one I have ever 
 known. But she had a taste for responsibility and 
 moral direction, which, as I have said, revealed itself 
 at one period of her life ; and it may be doubted if 
 stimulus and direction can be successfully combined. 
 Her power of stimulus was very great, because, in 
 the first place, her pure and lofty mind had a great 
 charm about it, the charm of harmony and serenity ; 
 while at the same time it was not one of the dry, 
 clear-cut, and definite minds which make principles 
 distinct but do not invest them with attractiveness. 
 
 432
 
 CHARACTER 
 
 She had a poetical touch derived from her sense of 
 moral and artistic beauty ; and it is, after all, the 
 sense of beauty in moral things which transforms 
 the world. No one is attracted by a theory of truth 
 for truth's sake, or justice for the sake of justice. 
 These are merely demonstrations of moral problems, 
 and have not necessarily the least power to move 
 the heart, A proposition of Euclid may be a mani- 
 festation of geometrical truth, but it affords no 
 stimulus for the heightening of emotion. What 
 really initiates moral progress is the kindling of 
 admiration ; and certain minds have a power of 
 influence, because they kindle in other minds the 
 wish to resemble them, the impulse to amend one's 
 own conduct and view of life, the desire to share the 
 beautiful secrets of so fine an example. People may 
 be deterred from vice and scolded out of dishonour- 
 able and dishonest courses ; yet nothing can create 
 enthusiasm for virtue and honour but the realisation 
 of their grace and beauty. It was here, I am sure, 
 that my sister's great strength lay, in the sense which 
 she gave of living a life largely and happily among 
 fine ideas and beautiful thoughts, and living thus 
 modestly and unaffectedly, yet at the same time 
 intensely, eagerly, and vividly, among the things 
 of the Spirit. Her mind moved easily and lightly 
 among abstractions and ideas ; but also she had a 
 quick eye for the small things of life, beautiful 
 scenes, the habits of animals, the whims and flashes 
 of temperament, so that, wherever she lived, her 
 life was full of swift impressions and the realisation 
 of the smallest and finest shades of quality. 
 
 This, then, is my real reason for tracing her life 
 and depicting her character. It is not only that I 
 
 433 2F
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 have wished to recall, for the sake of love and tender 
 companionship, the beautiful nature which I knew 
 and loved ; but I am sure that the best gift that can 
 be given to the world is not the romantic construction 
 of an imaginary life, but a simple record of a real 
 life, much beset and baffled by limitations and 
 disasters, and yet full of sweetness and energy 
 and glow. 
 
 The world suffers when men and women hoard 
 and gamer for themselves their knowledge of fine, 
 distinct, beautiful characters, and when they refuse 
 to share them. I do not want oblivion to cover up 
 as with a cloak the courage and brightness of my 
 sister's life and example. All the best things we 
 know about the best human beings are things of 
 which it might easily have been said that they were 
 too sacred to be told. It is a better reverence to 
 record and display them, and I shall be satisfied if 
 but a few of those who may read these pages are 
 encouraged to believe more firmly in the possibilities 
 of life, and to find refreshment in the living stream 
 of crystal clearness which not only makes glad the 
 City of God, but redeems and purifies the world of 
 men, for all its sorrow and pain. 
 
 434
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 RELIGION 
 
 Her religious faith was, I think, the deepest 
 thing in her mind ; it fo cussed and centralised all 
 her other powers. It was in a high degree both 
 rational and historical, and the interest she took in 
 Hegelianism, which may be loosely defined as the 
 sense of personality in the Universe, inferred from 
 personality as the ultimate fact in man, was an 
 indication of the line she followed. She was eager 
 and conscientious about religious observance, such 
 as Church services and family prayer, but her hold 
 on these perhaps slackened a little as time went on, 
 and became merged in a species of quietism. She 
 became unwilling to give her opinion on points of 
 doctrine and fundamental truths. She would give 
 her view if consulted, but would add, " I am not the 
 right person to ask about these things." She 
 seemed latterly not to be so sure of her ground, and 
 confessed to a certain morbidity about herself. She 
 had a correspondence about 1906 with Bishop 
 Wilkinson, in which she complained of a sense of 
 insecurity in certain matters of faith, and of a doubt 
 of her own sincerity. He wisely recommended her 
 not to probe into details too much, and not to be too 
 anxious in self-scrutiny, except on such broad 
 
 435
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 principles as those of the Beatitudes. The subject 
 was brought rather emphatically before her by my 
 brother Hugh's change of religious attitude, and 
 she perhaps became aware that she did not set much 
 store by formal doctrine, particularly if it were 
 expressed in a definite and limiting way. She mis- 
 trusted any system which laid claim to peculiar 
 privileges. A friend remembers her once saying, 
 " I could not worship a God who was specially 
 my God, and not the God of the whole world." At 
 the same time she certainly held firml}^ to the com- 
 prehensive and Catholic attitude of Anglicanism, 
 and spent much time in arguing a friend out of 
 Presbyterian beliefs. In this case she was rather 
 amused at the effect she produced, and said once, 
 speaking of this particular friend, " Once upon a 
 
 time I used to have to stir H up to come to 
 
 church or to have a celebration at home ; but now 
 
 it is the other way, and H urges me." 
 
 " Prayer was the basis of her whole life," says 
 a friend ; " she prayed unceasingly for other people." 
 " She was very childlike in her approach to God," 
 my mother writes, " and intensely humble, but she 
 never seemed to me to be quite able to take Him at 
 His word with regard to herself, or to lose herself in 
 Him." I do not think that there was anything that 
 could be called exactly mystical about her. The 
 mystic is one, it may be said, who has a direct and 
 instinctive perception of a divine essence in things 
 somewhat as the highly-developed artistic nature 
 has a sense of beauty in material things, so that the 
 mystic has an intuitive consciousness of the Divine 
 Presence which can hardly be expressed in words. 
 Maggie was not, I believe, made on these lines. I 
 
 436
 
 RELIGION 
 
 imagine that she had a strong intellectual perception 
 of the Personality of God, confirmed by experience, 
 rather than a direct intuition, and that her prayers 
 were made in faith and confidence to the Fatherly 
 Spirit, Whom she discerned in every region of life, 
 and of Whose loving intention to herself she was 
 perpetually conscious. She wrote for her own use, 
 and gave to her friends, the following prayer : — 
 
 " O Lord, we believe that Thou givest the peace- 
 able fruits of Thy chastening to those who suffer 
 and through them to others. Yet through Thy Son 
 Jesus Christ Thou didst release those who through 
 frailty of soul and body were bound by evil. O 
 Lord, Who didst make the Captain of our Salvation 
 perfect through suffering, and gavest Him the 
 victory over sin and death, we beseech Thee to 
 give us full content in Thy will, to rejoice in the 
 fellowship of His sufferings or in His gift of life 
 and health. We desire to live to Thy glory and 
 for Thy service. Lord, increase our desire and 
 strengthen our faith — and in desire and faith we pray. 
 Lord, heal and strengthen Thy servant who putteth 
 her trust in Thee." 
 
 She took, moreover, a great delight in certain 
 hymns, which she committed to memory, and often 
 said over softly to herself before she went to sleep 
 or in wakeful hours. Such were : 
 
 " O God, of good the unfathomed sea," " Eternal 
 Light, Eternal Light," " The Sands of Time," " Come, 
 O Thou Traveller unknown," " Jesu, soft harmonious 
 name," " I hunger and I thirst," " Quiet, Lord, my 
 froward heart," and in particular the old version of 
 " Jerusalem, my happy home," with all its quaint 
 and beautiful imagery. Indeed, I think that though 
 
 437
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 she had little gift for poetical expression, there was 
 no one to whom the beauty of poetry more deeply 
 appealed ; it was the natural language of her heart, 
 in religion as well as in daily life.* 
 
 She believed much in the study of the original 
 documents of the New Testament, and much of her 
 later work was in the direction of enforcing the 
 necessity of religious knowledge because she disliked 
 and dreaded shallow, sentimental, and current con- 
 ceptions of religion, and believed in the duty of 
 realising in how definite and philosophical a form 
 Christianity had presented itself to the world ; she 
 much mistrusted the blurring of its outlines and the 
 partial dependence on certain texts, which presented 
 only an aspect of truth. At the same time she did 
 not consider herself too strictly bound by authority 
 and tradition, because she believed in development 
 and scientific investigation. 
 
 When she fell into darkness and sorrow at the 
 time of her illness, and while her mind was swept 
 with storms of grief and perplexity, one of her 
 deepest miseries was the loss, not of her faith, but of 
 any confirmation and assurance of it. She often 
 spoke to me of this, and of the silence in Heaven of 
 which she said she was aware. " I have nothing to 
 hold on to — I cannot pray." But she did pray, and 
 she continued to believe that her faith might be 
 restored to her. She loved to go to St. Paul's with 
 me, and we often sate, by the kindness of the Dean, 
 in his private pew above the stalls of the choir, when, 
 as she knelt or sate, she had a look of peace which 
 one rarely saw at other times. 
 
 * She wrote an interesting article on Hymnolog}' in the 
 Church Quarterly in 1005. 
 
 438
 
 RELIGION 
 
 One of her closest friends, writing about those 
 latter days, says : 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 "To me no recollection of the heyday of her 
 splendid activities is so wonderful and so inspiring 
 as her beautiful patience and gentleness in those last 
 years of awful trial — cut off from the interests and 
 occupations which had filled her life, and, as it 
 seemed to her perplexed mind and heart, by the 
 unkindness of those who should have cared for her 
 most. And even the Love of God, which had been 
 so much to her, hidden behind the dark cloud ; and 
 yet through all the darkness holding fast to daily 
 prayer, and the reading of the Bible, and her respect 
 lor the holy days of the Church. It used to fill me 
 with the deepest reverence when I was with her, 
 and those hours will always be the most precious 
 memory of my life." 
 
 I add two letters in which she spoke very fully 
 and freely of her religion. 
 
 {To Stewart McDowall.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 May 28, 1899. 
 
 . . . But the other is in a sense the difiiculty of 
 life itself, — ^this, I mean, that there must always be 
 a struggle, — that we must always be overcoming 
 through the power of Christ. 
 
 But from what you say, I think there is more than 
 this that you feel to be wrong, — something that there 
 should not and must not be in the life of any one who 
 
 439
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 is trying to be a Christian. And if you are, as you 
 say, trying to do right without God, it will and must 
 always be a failure. I think I know what you mean 
 very well. One tries to be good enough, and all seems 
 going fairly well, when suddenly one finds it has all 
 gone wrong. Just because it's an impossibility that 
 we are trjnng, and in our very trying there is a shrink- 
 ing from God. Sometimes we are afraid that if we 
 cast ourselves upon God He will really take us at 
 our word and make us much better than deep down 
 we wish to be — which is true because He wills to 
 make us perfect, and we want to be very fairly 
 good, but don't want to give up what we may be 
 called upon to give up or face what we may be called 
 upon to face. 
 
 Well, as far as I know, the only thing we can do 
 is to cast ourselves upon God : to say that we are 
 there. His children, His servants, to be made what 
 He wills, and then to cling by faith — by purpose — to 
 the belief that He will do it. One thing that seems 
 more and more true as life goes on is that God does 
 answer prayer, and that people only cease to believe 
 this because they cease to pray. 
 
 I don't think it is any good iorcmg feeling — trying 
 to feel. To be able to feel that we love God, is a 
 great gift that God bestows on some people, by 
 nature perhaps ; but to many only after effort, or 
 when they need it, or when they have lived in His 
 love as a fact. Meanwhile, one may pray for it, and 
 must, — and one may act on it, — for it is love, if you 
 want to serve Him. 
 
 But the root of the matter is just the same — the 
 question of whether one's heart and purpose is given 
 
 440
 
 RELIGION 
 
 to God ; and the question of how one can do it ; for 
 it seems an utter impossibility to get at one's real 
 self — and one tries to do it by doing right without 
 this, and it all ends in failure. Well, as I say, I 
 believe the beginning and end is prayer, — prayer 
 believing that we shall receive ; saying, ' I am not 
 able. Father, to give myself — but I will to do it. 
 Make me able.' It is often more help to pray often, 
 (a sentence in one's mind, any time) — than to pray 
 long prayers. 
 
 There is just one other thing. It sometimes 
 gives one a great sense of strain, as if pleasing God 
 were all a strain that one had to force oneself to. I 
 think that is a false fear, for strain comes when one 
 is halting between two opinions. There is struggle 
 with oneself afterwards, but it is quite different, for 
 God's deliverance is into freedom. 
 
 {To Miss Beatrice Layman.) 
 
 Tremans. 
 
 It is a big question ! In some ways I would 
 rather talk. I don't believe one can give one reason, 
 or even a set of simply logical reasons, occurring at 
 a certain definite time. I think the best I can do is 
 to tell you the kind of periods of realisation that one 
 gets to. Of course one receives, and has to receive, 
 so much on authority, which one can only verify 
 little by little, through one's life, but I think the 
 thing which is most convincing is that when one does 
 so, one strikes across a great reality, so that the thing 
 
 441
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 one held before in one's mind only, which one was 
 taught, which one thought over, and decided was 
 theoretically rational, suddenly begins to live. Then 
 after one has done that many times, one begins to 
 realise that the other beliefs one holds are intellectual 
 expressions of living reality, a sort of shorthand of 
 what really exists. 
 
 I think it is generally some necessity which has 
 driven me to these beliefs. When I was quite a 
 child, I was told by someone the simplest instance of 
 answered prayer — abput a thing which was lost — 
 and I tried it, and found the thing which I had lost 
 and then began so to believe in prayer, that on 
 certain occasions I felt I ought not to pray, because 
 I was so sure I should get the thing, and wasn't sure 
 it was right I should have it. And so at certain 
 crises, in danger — in Egypt when I was supposed 
 to be actually dying — or in times of distress — if I 
 felt I must pray and so grappled in prayer, I always 
 found relief — or if without distress I prayed quietly 
 and confidently for a thing I knew was God's will, — 
 long after, sometimes, I found it was coming to pass. 
 
 And then again later (through, I think, trying 
 to make someone else realise something) I grasped 
 for myself all at once what was meant by "Ye are 
 dead and your life is hid with Christ in God," and 
 
 " Christ that dwelleth in you " I think very 
 
 often what prevents one from realisation is the fact 
 of never speaking of these things to any one else — if 
 you see a person who needs the life that belief in 
 Christ gives and say nothing, one's own realisation 
 fades away, — if one tries to help, it suddenly becomes 
 luminous and real. 
 
 I think always and all through these various 
 442
 
 RELIGION 
 
 things are true. One hears on Authority — yet from 
 people one most trusts — one tries to assimilate 
 intellectually — one sees that all best things, and vital 
 power in one's own life, lie on that side ; one finds 
 one's own life wrought out with a certain purpose of 
 this kind, — though (and often because) one finds 
 one's own purposes thwarted sometimes at the point 
 of realisation. One finds growth taking place un- 
 consciously, and one asks what is that vital power 
 which is forming me in spite of myself — one is pressed 
 by some immediate distress and prays, — and one 
 finds relief in som.e way or other — or one has a per- 
 manent desire for which one prays even intermit- 
 tently, and one wakes to find it is being worked out. 
 
 It was very late before I realised any love for Our 
 Lord. I was afraid of sentimentalism — and then 
 I don't think I took any means — I didn't really 
 think about His character or His life. I shrank 
 from thinking of His httmanity. 
 
 I don't know whether this will be any help or 
 any good. You see from all these points one feels 
 " such beliefs alone give any real meaning to life " — 
 and when they become real they become living 
 realities — and that conviction is, in a sense, a 
 greater certainty — (even though one goes back in 
 feeling and realisation very often) than any simply 
 logical reason. Lives seem so barren, and thin 
 without it — or so vague and unsatisfied. 
 
 This, then, was her belief — an anxious faith, in 
 many ways, because it reflected the diffidence and 
 introspectiveness of her mind, and because she 
 constantly compared her progress with her ideals. 
 There was much in her life and character which she 
 
 443
 
 MAGGIE BENSON 
 
 mistrusted and even feared, and earnestly desired 
 to see changed, while she felt powerless to change it 
 by a mere effort of will. She did not achieve 
 serenity of contemplation, because, with her vivid 
 sense of duty, she felt herself constantly responsible 
 for her own shortcomings Yet she had a deep 
 vision of beauty and perfection, and her whole life 
 was a conscious and even painful effort to draw 
 nearer to it. She never relapsed into any com- 
 placency or self-satisfaction ; it was a ceaseless and 
 faithful perseverance to do her part in life, to amend 
 whatever was amiss, to cleanse and purify her own 
 life and heart from all unworthy motives, and to fit 
 herself for further adventures. She loved life as it 
 was, and yet never acquiesced in its imperfection ; 
 and I think that she always had in her mind that 
 other City of God, with no precise forecast of imagina- 
 tion, but with a deep patience and a lofty hope. 
 
 444
 
 INDEX 
 
 Addington, 82 
 
 Archbishop's Diploma in Theo- 
 logy, 272, 281 
 
 Arnold-Forster, Miss, quoted, 
 280 
 
 At Sundry Times and in Divers 
 Manners, 115 
 
 Bartlett, Miss, quoted, 47 
 
 Beauty of Life, The, 403 
 
 Benson, Archbishop (father), in- 
 stalled as Chancellor at Lin- 
 coln, 1 7 ; Bishop of Truro, 25 ; 
 and religious life of Truro, 38 ; 
 offered archbishopric, 43 ; life 
 at Lambeth and Addington, 
 81-82 ; death, 234 ; God's 
 Board, 291 n. 
 
 , Mrs. (mother), quoted, 29, 
 
 31, 280, 436 
 
 , Christopher (uncle), 12 
 
 ^, Fred (brother), 1 60; quoted, 
 
 34, 151, 193, 201 
 
 , Hugh (brother), 40, 182, 
 
 307, 309. 317. 329, 345 
 , Martin (brother), letter 
 
 quoted, 17 ; death, 40 
 , Nelly (sister), 19, 44, 89-91 ; 
 
 characteristics and death, 114- 
 
 118 
 Beth (nurse), 7, 9, 20, 238, 270, 337 
 Bevan, Miss Gladys, 278; quoted, 
 
 272 
 
 , Professor, 332 
 
 Brackenbury, Captain, R.N., 157 
 Browne, Bishop Harold, 43 
 Burgon, Dean, 61 
 
 Cambridge, Duke of, 201 
 Capital, Labour, Trade and the 
 
 Outlook, 83 
 Church, Dean, 43, 431 
 Church Family Newspaper, 400 
 Church Quarterly Review, 438 n. 
 CoUins, Bishop, quoted, 272 
 Courtney, Mrs., quoted, 48 
 
 Davey, Sir Horace, 112 
 Dicey, Mr. Albert, 333 
 
 Esdaile, Mrs. Arundell, 248 
 quoted, 251 
 
 Fowler, Sir John and Lady, 94 
 Furniss, Miss Maud, quoted, 28, 
 
 32 
 
 Gourlay, Miss Nettie, 152, 189, 
 
 420 
 Greece, King and Queen of, 151, 
 
 160-162 
 
 Herkomer, Sir Hubert von, 125- 
 
 127 
 Holmes, Miss, quoted, 50 
 
 Johnson, Mrs. Arthur, 74 n. 
 Jourdain, Miss E. F., quoted, 50, 
 319 
 
 445
 
 INDEX 
 
 King, Bishop Edward, trial of, 
 
 112 
 
 King's Achievement, The, 343 
 
 Lambeth Palace, 79 
 
 Layman, Miss Beatrice, quoted, 
 
 48 
 Lea, Mrs., quoted, 52, 86, 399 
 Legrain, M., 202 
 Lightfoot, Bishop, 336 
 Lindsay, Lady Jane, letter 
 
 quoted, 198 
 
 McDowall, Mr. Stewart (cousin), 
 248,297; quoted, 248, 412 
 
 Newberry, Mr., 291 
 
 Orchard Pavilion, The, 405 
 
 Parker, John, 11 n. 
 Pattison, Mark, 338 
 Phillimore, Sir Walter, Bt., 112 
 Ponsonby, Miss M., quoted, 276 
 Price, Mrs. Bartholomew, 64 n. 
 Punch, 378 
 
 Roddy (collie), 266 
 
 Ruskin, John, 50, 57, 64, 65, 125 
 
 St. Paul Association for Biblical 
 
 Study, 278, 279, 319 
 Sanday, Dr., 319 
 Shirley, Mrs., quoted, 29 
 Shuttleworth, Mrs., quoted, 30 
 Sidgwick, Henry (uncle), 324 
 , Mrs. (grandmother), letter 
 
 quoted, 16 
 Six Common Things, 34 
 Soul of a Cat, The, 412 
 Stephenson, Mrs., quoted, 278 
 Streets and Lanes of the City, 
 
 The, 115 
 Subject to Vanity, 4^2 
 
 Tait, Archbishop, 42, 80 
 Temple, Archbishop, 237 
 Temple of Mut in Asher, The, 
 
 152, 189 
 Tremans, 260 seq. 
 Tricoupis, Miss, 155, 159 
 
 Venture of Rational Faith, The, 
 
 52, 280, 352 n., 412 
 Victoria, Queen, 339, 344 
 
 Ward, Mr. Wilfrid, 279 
 Watkins, Archdeacon, 336 
 Wellington College, 8 
 Westcott, Bishop, 9 
 Wilkinson, Bishop, 435 
 
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