Chapter IV: Front Matter (4)

To give adequate idea of the whole correspondence would occupy much space, and we can only briefly refer to a few of the letters at different periods of her long life of widowhood. To Burnet, the Bishop of Salisbury, she writes, in 1690: "When anything below is the object of our love, at one time or other it will be a matter of our sorrow. But a little time will put me again into my settled state of mourning; for a mourner I must be all my days on earth, and there is no need I should be other. My glass runs low: the world does not want me nor do I want it: my business is at home and within a narrow compass. I must not deny, as there was something so glorious in the object of my biggest sorrow, I believe that in some measure kept me from being overwhelmed."

At one time Lady Russell was in danger of losing her sight, but being couched for cataract, she recovered sufficiently to continue her correspondence.

In the early years of her great loss, while at first overwhelmed in spirit, she yet resolves, in submission to the will of God, to bear her calamities with patience and courage. "My yet disordered thoughts," she writes to Dr. Fitzwilliam, "can offer me no other than such words as express the deepest sorrows, and confused as my yet amazed mind is. You, that knew us both, and how we lived, must allow I have just cause to bewail my loss. Who can but shrink at such a blow, till, by the mighty aid of His Holy Spirit, we will let the gift of God, which He hath put into our hearts, interpose. That reason which sets a measure to our souls in prosperity, will then suggest many things which we have seen and heard to moderate us in such sad circumstances as mine." "Can I regret his quitting a lesser good for a bigger? Oh! if I did steadfastly believe, I could not be dejected; for I will not injure myself to say I offer to my mind any infirm consolation to supply this loss. No, I most willingly forsake this world, this vexatious troublesome world, in which I have no other business but to rid my soul from sin; secure by faith and a good conscience my eternal interests with patience and courage bear my eminent misfortunes; and ever after be above the smiles and frowns of it. And when I have done the remnant of the work appointed me on earth, then joyfully wait for the heavenly perfection, in God's good time, when by His infinite mercy I may be accounted worthy to enter into the same place of rest and repose where he is gone, for whom only I grieve."

Many letters in similar strain are preserved, to Dr. Burnet, Dr. Patrick and other pious friends who like Dr. Fitzwilliam had sent messages of sympathy and consolation. She often refers to the refreshment and satisfaction she had in "endeavouring to do that part towards her children, which their most dear and tender father would not have omitted. These labours, if successful, though early made unfortunate, may conduce to their happiness for the time to come and hereafter." Attendance to these children, through childhood till they were settled in life, she ever reckoned, "her first and chief business," but she gradually undertook various matters of business for relatives and friends, many of whom had recourse to one so wise, unselfish, and sympathetic.

As an example of the interest she took in passing affairs, part of a letter to Dr. Fitzwilliam, in 1689, may be quoted. After replying to some inquiries about the Cambridgeshire clergy, which she could not learn from Lord Bedford, "the parliament houses being so exacting of time," she says: "You hear all the new honours, I suppose: not many new creations, but all are stepping higher; as Lord Winchester is Duke of Bolton; Lord Montague an Earl, still Montague; Falconbridge, who married Mary, daughter of Oliver Cromwell, an Earl called the same; Mordaunt, Earl of Monmouth (afterwards Earl of Peterborough); Churchill an Earl (afterwards Duke of Mailborough); Lumley (Scarborough) made a Viscount, Bentinck is an Earl (afterwards Duke of Portland); Sidney, a Viscount (afterward Earl of Romney). Those that saw this and the last coronation tell me this was much finer and in better order; and if the number of the ladies were fewer, yet their attendance was with more application near the Queen all the time, and with more cheerful faces by a great deal. By what is heard from Scotland, they mean to take the example from England. The last reports from Ireland say, that King James was moving with his army towards the north. And yesterday Lord Burlington said, Coleraine, a great town, was besieged by 6000 men, but that Lord Blaney had sallied out, and so behaved himself that they had raised the siege. D'Avaux who was the French ambassador in Holland, would not speak in council till all the Protestants were put out. So they were, and, as they say afterwards, discharged altogether....

"Lord Devonshire is to be installed at Windsor on St. George's day. My young folks have a longing desire to see the ceremony, and they cannot do it without a night's lodging at Windsor. If I can have that accommodation of your house I will think it a great favour, and will go with them, and look to your house while everybody is gone to the show. I doubt the post can't bring me a return time enough so I am put in hopes this may come to you by a coach; if it does, I do not question your order to your housekeeper to let us in. In confidence of it, I think to send to her, that I believe I shall come and ask your beds for the night."

X.

The following letter to her son (afterwards second Duke of Bedford), written from Stratton in July, 1706, is throughout so wise and good, that we give it without any curtailment. She was then past seventy years of age, and no words could be more fitly pondered by the young, than these from an aged and tried and experienced Christian woman.

"When I take my pen to write this, I am, by the goodness and mercy of God, in a moderate and easy state of health--a blessing I have thankfully felt through the course of a long life, which (with a much greater help), the contemplation of a more durable state, has maintained and upheld me through varieties of providences and conditions of life. But all the delights and sorrows of this mixed state must end; and I feel the decays that attend old age creep so fast on me, that, although I may yet get over some more years however, I ought to make it my frequent meditation, that the day is near, when this earthly tabernacle shall be dissolved, and my immortal spirit be received into that place of purity, where no unclean thing can enter; there to sing eternal praises to the great Creator of all things. With the Psalmist, I believe, 'at His right hand there are pleasures for evermore:' and what is good and of eternal duration, must be joyful above what we can conceive; as what is evil and of like duration, must be despairingly miserable.

"And now, my dear child, I pray, I beseech you, I conjure you, my loved son, consider what there is of felicity in this world, that can compensate the hazard of losing an everlasting easy being; and then deliberately weigh, whether or no the delights and gratifications of a vicious or idle course of life are such, that a wise or thoughtful man would choose or submit to. Again, fancy its enjoyments at the height imagination can propose or suggest (which yet rarely or never happens, or if it does, as a vapour soon vanishes); but let us grant it could, and last to fourscore years, is this more than the quickest thought to eternity? Oh, my child! fix on that word, eternity! Old Hobbes, with all his fancied strength of reason, could never endure to rest or stay upon that thought, but ran from it to some miserable amusement. I remember to have read of some man, who reading in the Bible something that checked him, he threw it on the ground; the book fell open, and his eyes fixed on the word eternity, which so struck upon his mind, that he, from a bad liver, became a most holy man. Certainly, nothing besides the belief of reward and punishment can make a man truly happy in his life, at his death, and after death. Keep innocency, and take heed to the thing that is right; for that shall bring a man peace at the last--peace in the evening of each day, peace in the day of death, and peace after death.

"For my own part, I apprehend, I should not much care (if free from pain) what my portion in this world was,--if a life to continue, perhaps one year or twenty, or eighty; but then, to be dust, not to know or be known any more,--this is a thought that has something of horror in it to me, and always had; and would make me careless, if it were to be long or short; but to live, to die, to live again, has a joy in it; and how inexpressible is that joy, if we secure an humble hope to live ever happily; and this we may do, if we take care to live agreeably to our rational faculties, which also best secures health, strength, and peace of mind, the greatest blessings on earth.

"Believe the word of God, the Holy Scriptures. What most hinders faith, I am persuaded, is ignorance of God's true nature. Look up to the firmament, and down to the deep, how can any doubt a divine power? And if there is, what can be impossible to infinite power? Then, why an infidel in the world? In His Gospel the terrors of God's majesty are laid aside, and He speaks in the still and soft voice of His Son incarnate, the fountain and spring whence flow gladness. The idolatrous heathen perform their worship with trouble and terror; but a Christian, and a good liver, with a merry heart and lightsome spirit: for, examine and consider well, where is the hardship of a virtuous life? (when we have moderated our irregular habits and passions, and subdued them to the obedience of reason and religion). We are free to all the innocent gratifications and delights of life; and we may lawfully, nay, further I say, we ought to rejoice in this beautiful world, and all the conveniences and provisions, even for pleasure, we find in it; and which, in much goodness, is afforded us to sweeten and allay the labours and troubles incident to this mortal state, nay, inseparable, I believe, by disappointments, cross accidents, bad health, unkind returns for good deeds, mistakes even among friends, and what is most touching, death of friends.

"But in the worst of these calamities, the thought of a happy eternity does not alone support, but also revive the spirit of a man; and he goeth forth to his labour with inward comfort, till the evening of his day (that is, his life on earth), and, with the Psalmist, cries out, 'I will consider the heavens even the work of Thy fingers, the moon and the stars which Thou hast ordained. What is man, that Thou art mindful of him? or the son of man, that Thou shouldest so regard him?' (Psalm viii.) 'Thou madest him lower than the angels, to crown him with glory.' Here is matter of praise and gladness. 'The fool,' as the Psalmist expresses it, 'hath said in his heart, There is no God.' Or, let us consider the man, who is content to own an invisible power, yet tries to believe, that when man has done living on this earth he lives no more: but I would ask, if any of these unhappy creatures are fully persuaded, or that there does not remain in those men at times (as in sickness or sober thoughtfulness) some suspicion or doubt, that it may be other than they try to think. And although they may, to shun such a thought, or be rid of such a contemplation, run away from it to some unprofitable diversion, or, perhaps, suffer themselves to be rallied out of such a thought, so destructive to the way they walk in; yet, to be sure, that man does not feel the peace and tranquillity he does who believes a future state, and is a good man.

"For, although this good man, when his mind may be clouded with some calamity very grievous to him, or the disorder of vapours to a melancholy temper, I say, if he is tempted to some suspicion, that it is possible it may be other than he believes (pray observe) such a surmise or thought, nay, the belief, cannot drive him to any horror: he fears no evil, because he is a good man, and with his life all sorrow ends too: therefore, it is not to be denied, he is the wisest man who lives by the Scripture rule, and endeavours to keep God's laws. His mind is in peace and tranquillity; he walks sure who keeps innocence, and takes heed to the thing that is right. He is secure, God is his friend, that Infinite Being; and He has said, 'Come unto Me, ye that are heavy laden, My yoke is easy.' But guilt is, certainly, a heavy load; it sinks and damps the spirits. 'A wounded spirit who can bear!' And the evil subtle spirit waits (I am persuaded) to drive the sinner to despair; but godliness makes a cheerful heart. Let not past errors discourage; who lives and sins not? God will judge the obstinate, profane, unrelenting sinner, but is full of compassion to the work of His own hand, if they will cease from doing evil and learn to do well, pray for grace to repent, and endeavour with that measure which will be given, if sincerely asked for; for at what time soever a sinner repents (but observe, this is no licence to sin, because at any time we may repent), for that day we may not live to see; and so like the fool in the parable, our lamps be untrimmed when we are called upon. Remember, that to forsake vice is the beginning of virtue; and virtue certainly is most conducive to content of mind and a cheerful spirit. He (the virtuous man) rejoiceth with a friend in the good things he enjoys; fears not the reproaches of any; no evil spirit can approach to hurt him here, or accuse him in the great day of the Lord, when every soul shall be judged according as they have done good or evil. Oh, blessed state! fit for life, fit for death! In this good state I wish and pray for all mankind; but most particularly, and with all the ardour I am capable of, to those I have brought into the world, and those dear to them. Thus are my fervent and frequent prayers directed,--that you may die the death of the righteous, and to this end, that Almighty God would endue you all with spiritual wisdom, to discern what is pleasing in His sight."

XI.

On May 28, 1716, she wrote to her kinsman, the Earl of Galway the second son of the old Marquis de Ruvigny. The elder son was killed at the battle of the Boyne; King William created the brother Earl of Galway. To him the aged lady thus wrote: "'Tis our duty to pray for and trust in the merciful providence of God; then it shall be well in the end, in this world or a better. I beseech God to give the consolation of His Holy Spirit to enable you to struggle with bodily pains; your resignation I have no doubt of, yet Nature will shrink, when the weight is heavy, and presses hard, which will not be imputed, because it is natural.

"I also pray to God to fortify your spirit under every trial, till eternity swallows all our troubles, all our sorrows, all our disappointments, and all our pains in this life. The longest, how short to eternity! All these ought to be my own care to improve my weak self, as the fortitude of your mind, experiences, and knowledge does to you. And I pray for such a portion of them in mercy to me, as may secure an endless glorifying, to so feeble, so ignorant, so mean a creature as myself, that I cannot be too little in my own sight.

"If there be a regency, the intended journey to Chatsworth must be laid aside, as I must now lay aside my pen for want of the day. I am certain of this being a truth, that I am,

"Faithfully and affectionately yours,

"R. RUSSELL."

Later letters to Lord Galway are couched in the same way, the last one thus ending--

"God, for the good you do mankind, grant you some easy years to do good upon earth before you change for a happy eternity. So does desire and pray Lord Galway's truly affectionate cousin, and faithfully such to gratify to the utmost of her ability, R. RUSSELL."

The dear old lady speaks in this letter of "evening creeping upon her," but she lingered to an extreme old age, dying on September 29, 1723, in her 87th year. She lived to see the Protestant rule firmly secured by the Hanoverian succession. In public affairs she continued to take interest, but always in subservience to the higher cause of moral and spiritual advancement. In one of her last letters she says of the son of the king, "I have inquired from Doctor Sloane how the Prince is to-day. He says, 'In a way to do well.' I trust, in the mercy of God, all our divisions shall be so with time."

One of her latest letters is dated September 4, 1716, addressed to her second daughter, the Duchess of Devonshire: "It is to no use to murmur that you could not be satisfied with taking the journey; the rather also because I believe I should have done the same. It is so fine a season I trust your return to Derbyshire will be easy; your mind would not have been such had you not done as you did. I shall be easy with a line or two from Lady Mary [her eldest daughter, who died unmarried in 1719] how you got to Chatsworth. At your first coming you will have a great deal to do, and so for the short time you can stay. I see no cause to fear, but that all will be, as we are, quiet; it is the temper of most to fear, or seem to do so." (She referred to the public tranquillity, of which the rebellion of the year before had left doubts.) "The season is exceedingly fine, not much burnt up; but the farmers, for talk's sake, ever wishing for what they have not; but it is good walking, and that is my best diversion. I cannot easily add any words to make this more a diversion to you, than that I thank God I have as much health as my years can have; and memory as yet enough to take a pleasure when I hear of what I love most, and desire all good may be their portion; which will afford content, while any thought whatever of good or ill remains in the head or heart of

"Your ever-affectionate mother, R. RUSSELL."

The spirit in which she bore the first overwhelming passion of grief may be best seen in the letters written by her to Doctor Fitzwilliam, who had been chaplain at Woburn, and who afterwards returned them to Mr. Solwood, the librarian there, by whom they were published. In 1819 another volume of letters was published, from the originals in the possession of the Duke of Devonshire. These range from her early married life down to her extreme old age; and contained greater variety of reference to the passing events of her time than are found in the Woburn letters, which are chiefly occupied with personal feelings and experiences. From them may be obtained as perfect a portraiture of Lady Russell as can be desired.

"Her letters," says Bishop Burnet, "are written with an elegant simplicity, with truth and nature, which can flow only from the heart. The tenderness and constancy of her affection for her murdered lord presents an image to melt the soul." Horace Walpole says, "I have now before me a volume of letters of the widow of the beheaded Lord Russell, which are full of the most moving and impressive eloquence." In fact it would be difficult to find a combination of so much good sense, tender affection, womanly fortitude, and deep piety in any collection of letters. It is observable also that in the whole course of these letters there is not to be found a trace of resentment or of reflection upon any person who had caused her husband's death. When James II. was no more king, but a fugitive in a foreign land, she utters no word of triumph over him, nor says that he was justly punished for his cruel crimes. Even the inhuman Jefferies, whose violence helped to get her husband condemned, is passed over in silence, and no reference is made to his disgrace, and his shameful end. She had attained to such moderation of spirit that no trace of anger appears against the unworthy instruments that had brought overwhelming grief upon her. In nothing more than this is the excellence of her Christian character conspicuous.

JAMES MACAULAY, M.A., M.D.

Frances Ridley Havergal

I.

HER EARLY LIFE.

"Oh, 'Thine for ever!' What a blessed thing
To be for ever His who died for me!
My Saviour, all my life Thy praise I'll sing,
Nor cease my song throughout eternity."

Such were the words penned by Frances Ridley Havergal on an important day in her history; and they seem to be a fit expression of the purpose of one, the strains of whose songs shall reverberate through all ages.

Frances Ridley Havergal was born at Astley in Worcestershire on December 14, 1836. She was the youngest daughter of William Henry Havergal, who was rector of Astley. Her second Christian name she got from her godfather, Rev. W.H. Ridley, and rejoiced in the fact that he was descended from the godly martyr, Bishop Ridley.

Her eldest sister Miriam gives a glowing description of Frances:[1]

[Footnote 1: The quotations, when not otherwise acknowledged, are made, and the chief of the facts taken, by kind permission of Messrs. Nisbet & Sons, from _Memorials of Frances Ridley Havergal_.]

"My recollection of Frances begins with the first day of her life; a pretty little babe even then, and by the time she reached two years of age, with her fair complexion, light curling hair, and bright expression, a prettier child was seldom seen. At that age she spoke with perfect distinctness, and with greater fluency and variety of language than is usual in so young a child. She comprehended and enjoyed any little stories that were told her. I remember her animated look of attention when the Rev. J. East told her about a little Mary who loved the Lord Jesus. We were all taught to read early and to repeat by our dear mother, but as I had now left school I undertook the charming little pupil, teaching her reading, spelling, and a rhyme (generally one of Jane Taylor's), for half an hour every morning, and in the afternoon twenty or thirty stitches of patchwork, with a very short text to repeat next morning at breakfast. When three years old she could read easy books, and her brother Frank remembers how often she was found hiding under a table with some engrossing story. At four years old, Frances could read the Bible and any ordinary book correctly, and had learned to write in round hand; French and music were gradually added; but great care was always taken not to tire her or excite the precocity of her mind, and she never had a regular governess."

In the year 1859 she began to write an autobiography, commencing with her recollections of herself and her surroundings when she was four years old. She thus writes: "Up to the time that I was six years old I have no remembrance of any religious ideas whatever. Even when taken once to see the corpse of a little boy of my own age (four years) lying in a coffin strewn with flowers, in dear papa's parish of Astley, I did not think about it as otherwise than a very sad and very curious thing that that little child should lie so still and cold.... But from six to eight I recall a different state of things. The beginning of it was a sermon preached one Sunday morning at Hallow Church by Mr. (now Archdeacon) Phillpots. Of this I even now retain a distinct impression. It was to me a very terrible one, dwelling much on hell and judgment, and what a fearful thing it is to fall into the hands of the living God. No one ever knew it, but this sermon haunted me, and day and night it crossed me. I began to pray a good deal, though only night and morning, with a sort of fidget and impatience, almost angry at feeling so unhappy, and wanting and expecting a new heart and have everything put straight and be made happy, all at once."

All this time she could not bear being "talked to," or prayed with, though she kept up a custom of going by herself every Sunday afternoon to a quiet room, and after reading a chapter in the New Testament would kneel down and pray; after that she "usually felt soothed and less naughty."

She appears even as a child to have appreciated very keenly the beauties of nature, and in the spring of 1845 she was most anxious to be made "a Christian before the summer comes" so that she might enjoy God's works as she believed a Christian alone could do.

Another soothing influence upon her spirited nature was the presence of any one whom she felt to be more than commonly holy, "not among those nearest and dearest to me at home," she confesses: "how perversely I overlooked them!--but any very pious clergyman or other manifest and shining Christian." "All this while," she continues, "I don't think any one could have given the remotest guess at what passed in my mind, or have given me credit for a single serious thought. I knew I was 'a naughty child,'--never entertained any doubts on the subject; in fact I almost enjoyed my naughtiness in a savage desperate kind of way because I utterly despaired of getting any better, except by being 'made a Christian,' which as months passed on, leaving me rather worse than better, was a less and less hoped-for, though more and more longed-for change."

When she was nearly nine years old, Mr. Havergal was appointed to the rectory of St. Nicholas, Worcester, and thither the family removed. Soon after their arrival, a sermon by the curate upon the text, "Fear not, little flock," aroused her from the feeling of self-satisfaction into which she had drifted. Having a favourable opportunity, she unburdened her heart one evening when alone with the curate, but he did not help the young seeker after peace. He said the excitement of moving and coming into new scenes was the cause most likely of her feeling worse, and that would soon go off; then she was to try and be a good girl and pray. So after that her lips were utterly sealed to all but God for another few years or rather more.

In 1848 her mother became seriously ill, and feeling that she was soon to leave her little girl, she said to her one evening: "Fanny dear, pray to God to prepare you for all that He is preparing for you." The sad event which the mother thus anticipated Frances could not or would not understand.

But what God had prepared for her she did in some measure realise when, a few weeks later, outside the house a funeral procession passed from the rectory to the churchyard, and inside a little girl flung herself on her bed with the lonely cry of a motherless heart, "Oh, mamma, mamma, mamma!" Her bright and apparently thoughtless manner led to the idea that she was heartless, but all the while she was heavy and sad for her loss, and weary because she had not yet received pardon of her sins.

Thus she went on, longing and trying to find peace, until she was fourteen years of age.

II.

RECEIVING "LIFE."

On August 15, 1850, Frances went to school at Belmont. The night before she left, her sister Ellen spoke to her of God's love, and she gave to her the first indication of her real feelings in the words, "I can't love God yet, Nellie!" But it was not to be so for long, however. During the first half-year at school a "revival," as she calls it, took place among the school girls, and she began to be more in earnest about her soul. One night she got into conversation with a Christian companion, and bursting into tears told her in French that she wished to love Jesus but could not. Her companion begged her to go to Jesus and tell Him this. Of this advice she says, "The words of wise and even eminent men have since then fallen on my ear, but few have brought the dewy refreshment to my soul which the simple loving words of my little Heaven-taught schoolfellow did." But peace had not yet come into her soul.

At length, in February, 1851, Frances made a confidante of Miss Cook, who in July, 1851, became her stepmother, and confessed that she desired pardon of her sins above everything else. She thus writes in her autobiography: "'Then, Fanny,' said Miss Cook, 'I think, _I am sure_, it will not be very long before your desire is granted, your hope fulfilled." After a few more words, she said, "Why cannot you trust yourself to your Saviour at once? Supposing that now, at this moment, Christ were to come in the clouds of heaven, and take up His redeemed, could you not trust Him? Would not His call, His promise be enough for you? Could you not commit your soul to Him, to your Saviour, Jesus?' Then came a flash of hope across me which made me feel literally breathless. I remember how my heart beat. 'I _could_ surely,' was my response; and I left her suddenly and ran away upstairs to think it out. I flung myself on my knees in my room, and strove to realise the sudden hope. I was very happy at last. I could commit my soul to Jesus. I did not and need not fear His coming. I could trust Him with my all for eternity. It was so utterly new to have any bright thoughts about religion that I could hardly believe it could be so, that I really had gained such a step. Then and there I committed my soul to the Saviour--I do not mean to say without _any_ trembling or fear, but I did--and earth and heaven seemed bright from that moment--_I did trust the Lord Jesus_."

In August, 1851, she went to school at Powick Court, near Worcester; but, owing to severe erysipelas in her face and head, she soon had to leave, and was ordered by the doctor to discontinue all study. She spent some time in Wales, and learnt Welsh very quickly. In November, 1852, she went with her parents to Germany, and attended school, standing alone as a follower of the Saviour among one hundred and ten girls. She progressed very rapidly in her studies. Though as a rule no girl was numbered in order of merit unless she had learnt everything (and she, through lack of time, had not done so), yet at the end of the term on the prize-giving day, when the names were called out, she heard with unspeakable pleasure the words, "Frances Havergal, _numero eins_!" (number one). The "Engländerin's" papers and conduct were so good that the masters agreed in council assembled to break through the rule for once and give her the place she deserved.

Her German master at Obercassel, Pastor Schulze-Berge, thus wrote of her: "She showed from the first such application, such rare talent, such depth of comprehension, that I can only speak of her progress as extraordinary. She acquired such a knowledge of our most celebrated authors in a short time as even German ladies attain only after much longer study."

She returned to England with her parents in December, 1853. On July 17, 1854, she was confirmed in Worcester Cathedral. In her case this public profession was a very real act. When asked by the bishop the solemn question to which all have audibly to answer, "I do," the reply of her heart was, "Lord, I cannot without Thee; but oh, with Thy almighty help, I do." In the cathedral she composed the lines with which this sketch begins. She always kept very solemnly the anniversary of this day.

She continued her German, French and English studies, and wrote many small pieces of poetry, the proceeds of which she gave to the Church Missionary Society. In the summer of 1856 she studied Hebrew very diligently; her knowledge and remembrance of the words of Scripture were very remarkable; she learnt the whole of the Gospels, Epistles, Revelation, the Psalms, and Isaiah, and later she added the Minor Prophets to the list.

While she thus grew in knowledge she grew also in grace. In August, 1859, she wrote: "I have lost that weary bondage of doubt and almost despair which chained me for so many years. I have the same sins and temptation as before, and I do not strive against them more than before, and it is often just as hard work. But whereas I could not see why I _should_ be saved, I now cannot see why I should not be saved if Christ died for all. On that word I take my stand, and _rest_ there. I still wait for the hour when I believe He will reveal Himself to me more directly; but it is the quiet waiting of present _trust_, not the restless waiting of anxiety and danger." That hour, in God's good time, did come.

In 1860 Canon Havergal resigned the rectory of St. Nicholas, Worcester, and Frances had to give up a class of unruly lads which she had taught with much success, one of the class becoming a minister of the Church of England, and another a Scripture-reader. The family removed to the country parish of Shareshill.

In 1861 Frances K. Havergal made her home at Oakhampton, the residence of her sister, and undertook the instruction of her two nieces. Her aim in teaching them was to fit them for eternity, but she did not fail to throw herself into their amusements and recreations, which she took up with her accustomed earnestness.

In the winter of 1865-66 F.R. Havergal visited her friends in Germany, and spent some time with her parents at Bonn. In 1806 her nieces went to school, and Frances left Oakhampton to reside at home.

Once again she confesses the presence of clouds on the horizon of her faith. "In reading, when one's heart leaps at some precious promise made to the children of God, a cold check comes, 'Am _I_ one of them? what is my title?' Answer: 'Ye are all the children of God by faith in Jesus Christ.' Have I faith? Once introduce that _I_, and you get bewildered between faith and feeling. When I go on and grapple with the difficulty, it comes to this. As far as I know, I have come to Jesus, not once but many times. I have knelt and literally prostrated myself before Him, and told Him all, I have no other hope but what His _written_ word _says_ He did and said, that I know it is true, that the salvation it tells of is just _what_ I want, and _all_ I want, and that my heart goes out to it, and that I do accept it; that I do not fully grasp it, but I _cling_ to it; that I want to be His only and entirely, now and for ever."

On September 23, 1867, she joined the Young Women's Christian Association, and found great benefit from her membership. She showed her practical interest in the Church Missionary and Irish Societies by wishing to give lessons in singing and German, the proceeds of which these societies were to have.

On April 19, 1870, she was called upon to part with her beloved father, after a short illness. In one of her poems she speaks of his

"Valiant cry, a witness strong and clear,
A trumpet with no dull uncertain sound."

Soon after his death she prepared for the press _Havergal's Psalmody_, which was afterwards largely used in the compiling of the Rev C. B. Snepp's hymn-book, called _Songs of Grace and Glory_, for which, she herself wrote several hymns. In June, 1871, she accompanied her friend Elizabeth Clay on a visit to Switzerland; there she thoroughly enjoyed the Alpine climbing, and revelled in the grand scenery of Mont Blanc and other snow mountains. On a subsequent visit Mont Blanc was ascended as far as the Grand Mulets. Here her delight in the exhilarating exercise of glissading landed her in a danger which, but for the presence of mind of Mr. Snepp, must have ended fatally to herself and one of the guides.

III.

LIFE MORE ABUNDANTLY.

We have now reached a time when Frances Ridley Havergal made a marked advance in spiritual life. It was the close of 1873. She received one day by post a little book entitled _All for Jesus_. She thus wrote about it to the clergyman who sent it to her: "_All for Jesus_ has touched me very much.... I know I love Jesus, and there are times when I feel such intensity of love to Him that I have no words to describe it. I rejoice too in Him as my 'Master' and 'Sovereign;' but I want to come nearer still, to have the full realisation of John xiv. 21--['He that hath My commandments, and keepeth them, he it is that loveth Me; and he that loveth Me shall be loved of My Father, and I will love him, and manifest Myself to him']--and to know the power of His resurrection,' even if it be with 'the fellowship of His sufferings;' and all this, not exactly for my own joy alone, but for others."

In reply to a letter from the clergyman, she wrote:[1] "I know I am not standing where I was two or three years ago. I think I first came to Jesus when I was only fourteen years of age, and I have been 'on the Lord's side' ever since. But of late, life has been a totally different thing to me, unspeakably brighter; Jesus so infinitely more precious: His service so infinitely sweeter and freer." But with this happiness she felt that there was a fuller consecration to God's service, to which she had not yet been able to yield herself. In a further communication her correspondent reminded her of the truth that Jesus is able to keep us from falling, and abiding in Him, His blood cleanseth, _i.e._ goes on cleansing from all sin. "For conscious sin there is instant confession and instant forgiveness."

[Footnote 1: _Such a Blessing_, p. 13.]

These words, though so simple, were made by the Holy Spirit a great comfort and help to her spiritual life. She replied,[1] "I see it all, and I _have_ the blessing. But I cannot write about it yet, not even to you. I want first to test my gold and to count my new treasure. In two or three weeks (b.v.) I will write and tell you all about it."

[Footnote 1: _Ibid_., p. 15.]

The promised letter was duly sent, and in it she says,[1] "Your words, 'His blood _goes on_ cleansing from unconscious sin,' and 'for conscious sin there is instant confession and instant forgiveness,' seem to include every need, and to settle all doubts and fears. Only one wants the holiness to be deep, inner _reality_: and so, I pray to be kept from unconscious, as well as from conscious sin. I do not want only to _think_ I am not sinning. It is so sweet to look up to Jesus, in the joy of His keeping, and to tell Him how one longs, not merely not to grieve Him any more, but to please, really and truly _please_ Him, all the days of my life. I had no idea there was such a blessing linked with being led into this truth." In a further letter she writes, "I never hated sin as I do now; and though I honestly thought I had given myself without reserve to Christ in full consecration, yet I see that there was an unconscious reserve of many little things."

[Footnote 1: _Ibid_., p. 20.]

The practical effect of this fuller insight into the blessings to be had by those who yield themselves up to Jesus Christ in simple faith, "was evident," remarks her sister, "in her daily true-hearted, whole-hearted service for her King, and also in the increased joyousness of the unswerving obedience of her home life, the surest test of all. To the reality of this I do most willingly and fully testify."

In 1874 F.R. Havergal went again to Switzerland. The first month of the visit was spent in quietly enjoying the scenery, and becoming braced up by the invigorating air. During the second month she began working at various literary projects, the chief being the writing of her poem "Thoughts of God." The composition of this was often, however, interrupted by little acts of ministry, cheerfully undertaken on behalf of the spiritual needs of the Swiss around her.

She returned from Switzerland in good health, and resumed her active work at home. At one time it was helping a young friend into light and peace; at another, it was making an appointment to break her journey at Willesden Station, to talk with some one in trouble. For "it will be worth ANY fatigue if I can comfort her," was her unselfish remark. Amid so much activity, little could she have anticipated what was so soon to befall her.

IV.

TRIED IN THE FURNACE OF PAIN.

The journey was broken as arranged, though Frances R. Havergal was by that time very ill. Through some mistake she waited an hour and a half before the friend came, and then took her with her some miles so that they might not lose the longed-for interview. When home was reached, she was seized with shivering, fever set in and was pronounced to be typhoid fever. In the middle of November, 1874, it was thought her end was near. But prayer, continued and earnest, was made that her valuable life might be spared, and God graciously heard and answered, and brought her back from the gates of death. When asked afterwards if she had any fear of dying, her answer was, "Oh no, not a shadow." "Then was it delightful to think you were going home, dear Fan?" "No, it was not the idea of going home, but that _He_ was coming for me and that I should _see my King_. I never thought of death as going through the dark valley, or down to the river; it often seemed to me a going up to the golden gates and lying there in the brightness, just waiting for the gate to open for me.... I never before was, so to speak, face to face with death. It was like a look into heaven, and yet when my Father sent me back again, I felt it was His will, and so I could not be disappointed."

In January, 1875, she was removed to Winterdyne, where she heard of the sudden death of her brother Henry. After a few days a relapse set in, and her stepmother was sent for. After the fever had passed away she suffered very severe pain. She remarked to her sister once, "Oh, Marie, if I might but have five minutes' ease from pain! I don't want ever to moan when gentle sister Ellen comes in. How I am troubling you all!"

Health gradually returned to her, and with it she recommenced her active work for the Master.

V.

COMING FORTH AS GOLD.

The Refiner's work in F.R. Havergal was very evident. Of this year's illness and slow convalesence she speaks: "It has been the most precious year of my life to me. It is worth any suffering to prove for oneself the truth of 'when thou passest through the waters I will be with thee,' and worth being turned back (as it seemed) from the very golden gates if one may but 'tell of all His faithfulness.' It is so real."

"For two or three weeks [during my illness]," she writes again, "I was too prostrate for any consecutive prayer, or for even a text to be given me; and this was the time for realising what 'silent in love' meant (Zeph. iii. 17). And then it seemed doubly sweet when I was again able to 'hold converse' with Him. He seemed too so often to send answers from His own word with wonderful power. One evening (after a relapse) I longed so much to be able to pray, but found I was too weak for the least effort of thought, and I only looked up and said, 'Lord Jesus, I am _so_ tired!' and then He brought to my mind 'rest in the Lord' with its lovely marginal reading, 'be silent_ in the Lord;' and so I just was silent to Him, and He seemed to overflow me with perfect peace, in the sense of His own perfect love."

When she was at length well enough to resume her literary work again, she busied herself in preparing an Appendix with music to _Songs of Grace and Glory_. She had completed it and sent it to the printers, and was hoping to be able to commence a book which she had contemplated writing, when she had the disappointing news that a fire at the printers' had destroyed the stereotype plates and paper as well as the MS.; and as she had kept no copy of the tunes, all her work had to be done over again. This "turned lesson," as she regarded it, was accepted with beautiful patience.

After a visit to Newport, Monmouth, followed by one to Ashley Moor, she spent some time in Switzerland. Here her quiet work went on among tourists and invalids, as well as Swiss. It was on this visit to Switzerland that she began the friendship with Baroness Helga V. Cramm, whose painted cards blend so beautifully with her words.

Towards the end of August, symptoms of her illness recurred, and she had not strength to return to England until October. It was on her journey back that the idea of her book _My King_ came to her. It was, says her sister, at Oxford station on the way to Winterdyne. "I thought Frances was dozing when she exclaimed, with that herald flash in her eye, 'Marie! I see it all; I can write a little book, _My King_;' and rapidly went through divisions for thirty-one chapters."

The writer of this short biography may here refer to a never-to-be-forgotten hour that he spent with Frances R. Havergal. He had sent her some lines suggested by this little book, of which she most kindly expressed her approval, and naturally the book _My King_ formed the subject of conversation, and she expressed her gratitude that she had been led to write this and other of her books in chapters for each day in the month; "for," said she, "they are read through in many cases twelve times a year instead of being perused once and thrown aside."

The year 1877 was passed uneventfully in paying various visits to relatives. But though uneventfully spent, not by any means idly or unprofitably, for her time was fully occupied with literary work.

A little later on we get a glimpse of this busy worker in another sphere. She had gone to Mildmay Park for rest.

"68, Mildmay Park, October, 1877.

"I was going away on Saturday, but caught cold at the quarterly meeting of the Association of Female Workers, ... so I resigned myself to an extra week here; and verily, they _do_ know how to nurse, _and_ what's more (!) how to keep you quiet. Also, they do know how to pray! I have learned a little, I hope, on _that_ subject this last week. What I hear and see here is quite a new light on intercessory prayer. I thought I knew something of its power and reality, but I see I did not know much.

"Mrs. Pennefather took me (before my cold) to Clapton House. I only wish every girl I care for was there; such a beautiful Christian school. I got any amount of bright looks (as it seems they knew my books), and I wanted exceedingly to go among them. Hearing the Principal say she would be prevented taking their Bible class, I ventured the proposal to take it. Afterwards, I had about a dozen all to myself in the drawing-room for a talk with any that wanted special help. They were told to get chairs. 'Oh!' I said, '_don't_ sit all in a row a long way off; come up close and cosy; we can talk ever so much better then, can't we?' You should have seen how charmed they were, and clustered niece-fashion all round me. We did have such a sweet hour; it was rather after the 'question-drawer' manner; but all their little questions and difficulties seemed summed up by one of them, 'we do _so_ want to come closer to Jesus.'"

As a help to her reading of the Bible, Frances R. Havergal joined the "Christian Progress Scripture Reading Union," conducted by her friend Rev. Ernest Boys, for whose magazine she acted, on one occasion, as editor during his absence. An amusing letter details her difficulties as editor, and she came out of them having formed this conclusion, "Never, except as an act of sheer mercy and pity, will I be an editor." This Reading Union was a great help to her own spiritual life, and also to her dealing with others, as the following sentences in a letter to the writer bears witness. "Not long ago I got five of my elder sister's servants to join, all Christians, but easy-going ones, and the result astonished me! It led to quite a revival of their spiritual life, and to reading together and speaking together, and to others; and I have since had a most beautiful letter from them full of gratitude for the _great_ blessing which God had given them through joining. _Anything_ to get people to read His Word! I find it continual help in corresponding with or meeting those who have joined, and any to whom God has let me be spiritually helpful are invariably delighted at the idea of reading with me. It is training many young Christians into _regular_ reading."

On May 26, 1878, F. R. Havergal's stepmother passed away. This event broke up their Leamington home, and Frances and her sister spent some time in the quiet of the Mumbles near Swansea. They then went to stay at a farmhouse in Herefordshire, where, among other forms of work for the Master, she, ever thoughtful of others, interpreted on her fingers to the man of the house, who was quite deaf, the sermons she heard. It was here that she wrote her poem entitled _Zenith_.

The breaking up of the Leamington home she thought afforded a good opportunity of practically carrying out her dedication of her silver and gold to God's service. She had hoped to devote _herself_ to missionary work, but her health prevented this being realised, so she sent off all her ornaments, including a valuable jewel-case, to the Church Missionary House in London, to be disposed of for missionary work. "I retain," she says, "only a brooch or two for daily wear, which are memorials of my dear parents; also a locket with the only portrait I have of my niece in heaven, my Evelyn; and her 'two rings' mentioned in _Under the Surface_. But these I redeem, so that the whole value goes to the Church Missionary Society. I had no idea I had such a jeweller's shop, nearly fifty articles are being packed off. I don't think I need tell you I never packed a box with such pleasure."