FOOTNOTES:

"Ce que peut la vertu d'un homme ne se doit pas mesurer par ses efforts, mais par son ordinaire."—Pascal.

In January 1859 Bessie, with a younger sister, paid a ten days' visit to Fir Grove, Eversley, the home of her friend Miss Erskine. It was at this time that she became personally acquainted with Charles Kingsley. She heard him preach in his own church, and the sermon was one that she always referred to with gratitude as having helped and strengthened her.[7]

Miss Erskine remembers that Bessie walked and talked with Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley, and that they learnt to love her dearly. They quickly recognised the brave and faithful nature of the blind lady. "When you have medicine to take you drink it all up," said Charles Kingsley.[8]Never was there a truer remark.

She might, in the diary she was then keeping, have recorded many interesting incidentsconnected with that visit. But she merely makes a note of work done on behalf of the Association, and there is one solitary mention of Mr. Kingsley's name—"talked to Mr. Kingsley about the Museum." That she talked about the Association it is unnecessary to add, and as a proof of it we find in the spring that Mr. Kingsley asked the Rev. Llewelyn Davies either to preach or to lend his pulpit in aid of her work.

On her return to Chichester the remainder of January was spent in writing letters to ask for anecdotes concerning the blind, and in obtaining material for her proposed book.

An autograph letter soliciting patronage was written at this time to the blind King of Hanover. She tells how she first dictated, then copied it herself, and also wrote herself to enclose it to Miss Boyle, by whom it was to be forwarded. "Seems little enough," she adds, "but took a long time."

With regard to her biographies, Levy writes as follows:

"I think Mr. Taylor would lend any work he has; the best he has I think are all German. The translations which I have heard from them remind me of the efforts which have been made to discover the North-West Passage, you are continually boring through ice, and if perchance you do meet with a piece of clear water you are no sooner aware that it is such than you are hemmed in with ice again.

"If you were to write and ask him to lend youany work on the biography of the blind it would do good, but all that Germany has produced for the blind is not worth spending much time upon." He proceeds to tell her of a meeting held at St. John's Wood, and of the feeling that seemed to prevail that the institution there for the blind must either adopt "our views" or else come to the ground; and how in consequence of this the title had been changed to "The London Society for teaching the blind to read and for teaching the Blind Industrial Arts." He ends his letter, "It seems truly miraculous that in so short a space of time so much should be done with the various institutions. There is St. John's Wood, St. George's, Manchester, Bristol, Exeter, York, and Bath of which we know."

Bessie's friends heard of her proposed book on the blind with interest. Mr. Browne, the Rector of Pevensey, wrote in warm approval, and offered when in London to consult books for her at the British Museum. The late Colonel Fyers wrote from Dover Castle, enclosing an account of the life of a blind doctor, Rockliffe, of Ashley in Lincolnshire. Her brother Tom writes from Trinity College, sending notes on the life of the blind professor, Sanderson of Cambridge, who died in 1739. He speaks of a picture on the stairs of the library, of which he thinks she might make use. Her own note-book is filled with accounts of the lives of Holman, Gough, Huber, Laura Bridgman, and others. Many letters sent to her at this time have been preserved; onefrom a blind man, Elisha Bates, interested her greatly:—

Elisha Bates.I am thirty-three years of age. I was born at Coburn near Richmond, Yorkshire. My parents were agricultural labourers. I was born quite blind. I was always fond of horses. I used as a little boy to drive the horses in Mr. Fryer's threshing machine. I began this about nine years of age. I went daily to the ploughing fields, and although so young I was allowed to drive the horses for the ploughman. I could very early find my way about the village and to the different fields of the farmers. Up to eleven years of age I went with the other boys of the village to seek birds' nests, and often found my way to and from the neighbouring villages. I always had an excellent memory for recollecting the turns in the road and the variations of the surface, by which I was guided. I never had a stick up to this time, and up to the present time I rarely use one. I went to the Liverpool Blind Institution at twelve years of age, and learnt to read in the characters for the blind, and was taught the trade of ropemaking. I was so good in finding my way at Liverpool that I used to take charge of an old man [Hewell Kennedy] in our walking excursions. He was lame, deaf, and blind, and I used to take him about three miles up the London Road to the Old Swan Inn. I never forget a road I have once travelled over. I have no difficulty in avoiding obstacles. I think I do so from the acuteness of my hearing; I listen attentively to my footfall, and when approaching any object which may intercept my progress, even a lamp-post, I can discover a slight difference in the sound. If I have any doubt I tread a little louder, so as to satisfy my ear. I never fail in making it out. The difference in the sound is difficult to describe; but if I am near a wall or any object in my path I feel the sound to be more confined andnot to extend itself as in an open space. It comes quicker to my ear. I left Liverpool at the age of seventeen and returned by railway to my native village. I remained a year at home and drove the farmer's horses. I then went to the Victoria Asylum at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, where I earned 8s. a week in making ropes. I remained there until I was twenty-two years old. Whilst in Newcastle I got thoroughly acquainted with the streets, and used to take out and deliver goods in the town. I came home by the railway and stayed two or three months. I then found my way on foot and alone to Sunderland, 45 miles. I asked people on the way how to steer my course. I always learnt what turns I had to take and the distance from place to place. I could calculate very accurately the time it took me to complete any given distance, and knew exactly when I arrived at the end of it. I then found my way from Sunderland to Newcastle, some 15 miles of very busy road, and had a great many of the colliery railways to cross. I walked back from Newcastle to Colburn unattended and alone. I then, after remaining at home a short time, started for Leeds, and walked above 50 miles in two days. I am a very quick walker on a good road. I went in search of work. I went alone from Leeds to Bradford, 10 miles of very busy road. I returned home walking alone the whole way by Otley, Knaresborough, and Leming, about 50 miles. I married after my return from Newcastle and have two children. After my last journey from Bradford I settled down at Richmond. My wife never travels with me, I always go alone. At Richmond I commenced with a donkey and cart as a firewood gatherer. My wife and I gathered firewood and brought it in my cart to Richmond, and sold it to my customers. I next got a pony and larger cart, and have ever since regularly led coals from the railway station into the town. I can find my way to any house in the town and never have any assistance in driving my cart and going about. Iget off and on to my cart as well as any other driver, and when it is empty I sit on my cart and drive with reins. With a load I go by the horse's head. I can tell instantly when any other vehicle is either coming towards me or coming past me in the same direction, and I turn my horse accordingly to avoid them. I never have any falls in walking alone, and never come in contact with anything when driving. I have never had any accident I groom my pony myself and go to purchase all the food it requires. I have always enjoyed good health. I have my amusements as well as work. I go angling in the River Swale with rod, and salmon roe as bait, and occasionally get a good dish of trout. I have also been a nut-gatherer, and found my way to the woods, and have gathered large quantities, which I have sold. I am fond of singing, and used to play the piano a little at Liverpool. I have not had any opportunities of doing so since. I do not always confine my leading coals to the town of Richmond; I occasionally take a load of coals or other articles, such as furniture, to a distance of 10 or 12 miles from the town. I was the other day employed with my horse and cart at Crake Hall near Bedale, 12 miles from Richmond. Of course I do all my work by myself and unattended by any one.Richmond,2d June 1859.

Richmond,2d June 1859.

Bessie refers in her diary at this time to MSS. in a considerable "state of advance;" but the only part of her work actually completed by herself and now recoverable is the title-page. She was too closely occupied with the work done in the Euston Road to give much time to the writing of a book. In the midst of a record of her literary work we come upon such an entry as "sold two brushes." Indeed there was no time in which shewould not gladly throw aside anything else in order to "sell two brushes."

Early in February she paid a short visit to friends at Ashling, in Sussex; and on the 26th of February we have the last entry in her diary. The full details of her busy life are at an end. There is no further detailed account of the interminable letters and appeals, the visits to blind men and women, the arrangements and plans and suggestions. They are all to go on for many a long year; but the labour of recording them is abandoned, and there is an attempt to diminish work which threatens to be overwhelming.

One of her letters at this time is to Mr. Eyre, "Rector of Marlbourne." What almost insuperable difficulties spelling must offer even to the educated blind! How much more we all learn from sight, from reading, than from the dictionary! When a word occurs for the first time to a blind person he can only spell by ear; and Marlbourne for Marylebone is a very creditable solution of a difficulty.

One of the most interesting workmen in the Institution at this time was both blind and deaf. Levy heard of, and, at Bessie's request, visited him in his own home. The poor fellow had worked to support two sisters and an aged mother until severe illness, fever, robbed him of sight and hearing. He had regained health, but sat in one corner of the room moaning "I am wretched, very wretched." Hearing no sound of his own voice he had ceased to speak to others, and sat in silence, save for these incessant moans, and indarkness; roused from time to time by a push on the shoulder and a plate of food put into his hands. The sisters did their best to support themselves and him by their needle, but he was as one living in the grave, and he was only twenty-one.

Such a case excited Bessie's deepest compassion. In a single afternoon Levy roused the poor fellow from almost hopeless despondency, and placed him once more in communication with the world around; taught him the letters of the dumb alphabet on his own hand, and spelt out the joyful information that he could learn a trade and earn his living by it. He did not readily believe this, but from that time the moans of "wretched, very wretched" ceased. He was admitted at once as a pupil at Euston Road, and learnt so rapidly that in six weeks he was able to write letters to his friends. Also he had ceased to "spoil material," which is the general occupation of learners for many months, and was earning between four and five shillings a week; whilst at the end of a year he was in receipt of excellent wages.

Bessie went frequently to the workshop "to talk to A." He would repeat aloud the letters formed upon his hand, and guess words and even sentences in a surprising manner. It was instructive to remark how soon an intelligent listener knows all you are going to say, and how unnecessary are many of our long explanations. Valuable lessons in brevity and conciseness were to be learnt from A., and the blind and deaf man soon brought you down to the bare bones of theinformation you had to give. An angry glance was thrown away upon him, and finger talk has no equivalent for that slight and incisive raising of the voice which implies that the speaker intends a listener to hear him to the end.

The slow, monotonous utterance of the deaf man, a pronunciation which, as years passed on, became strangely unreal, and a sense of the loneliness to which he was condemned, attracted much attention to this intelligent man.

After a time he married. His wife, a widow with a little girl, was no comfort to him; but the child soon became his inseparable and devoted companion. When work was over she used to read a newspaper to him. She uttered no sound, but sat with the paper in her lap, whilst her little fingers fluttered about his hand like the wings of a bird, and his slow monotonous voice followed her, repeating words and sentences, or telling her to go on to something else.

One day Bessie, who was often accompanied by a friend, took with her Miss Elizabeth Wordsworth, daughter of the late Bishop of Lincoln, to have a chat with A.

Miss Wordsworth sent her the following poem in memory of the visit:

A Ministry of Love to One Blind and Deaf.Near him she stands, her fingers lightIn quick succession goAcross his yielding palm, as white,As swift, as flakes of snow.The diamond on her hand, that gleamsAnd flashes when it stirs,Toward other eyes may fling its beams,But never gladden hers.No word she speaks, no whisper softHis inner mind to reach;No glances casts, tho' looks are oftMore eloquent than speech.The smile that gilds a friendly faceShall never meet his eye;Songs, footsteps, laughter, tears, give placeTo dreary vacancy.Silence and darkness, brethren twainFor ever at his side,Still hold him in their double chainInexorably tied.Yet love is stronger still, and sheEven hither wins her way,And soothes the long captivityBeneath that iron sway.Such tenderness, long years ago,The nymphs of ocean ledTo stern Prometheus stretched in woeUpon his stony bed.Or in the shape of insect, flower,Or bird has helped to cheer,In later times, full many an hourOf bondage, sad and drear.But what can comfort, like the heartThat sorrow's self has known;Since that has learnt the healing artFrom sufferings of its own.And casting selfish grief awayForgets its own distressIn sorrows heavier still, that preyOn some more comfortless.This she has learnt—the secret thisOf her calm life below;This gives those lips that sober blissAnd smoothes that peaceful brow.Yet more; the love of human kind,How pure soe'er it be,Can never fill the heart, designedTo grasp infinity.True, when the night of grief is darkIt gladdens us to kenThe distant cottage fires, and markThe peaceful homes of men.But such as upward lift their eyeWill see a worthier sight,The myriad stars, that in the skySeem homes for angels bright.Thus guided they pursue their wayThro' loneliest heath and dell,Till on their work of mercy, theyCome where their brethren dwell.And such as she no earthly glowWould e'er suffice for them,Shine on her, 'mid these dwellings low,Thou Star of Bethlehem!

A Ministry of Love to One Blind and Deaf.

Near him she stands, her fingers lightIn quick succession goAcross his yielding palm, as white,As swift, as flakes of snow.

Near him she stands, her fingers light

In quick succession go

Across his yielding palm, as white,

As swift, as flakes of snow.

The diamond on her hand, that gleamsAnd flashes when it stirs,Toward other eyes may fling its beams,But never gladden hers.

The diamond on her hand, that gleams

And flashes when it stirs,

Toward other eyes may fling its beams,

But never gladden hers.

No word she speaks, no whisper softHis inner mind to reach;No glances casts, tho' looks are oftMore eloquent than speech.

No word she speaks, no whisper soft

His inner mind to reach;

No glances casts, tho' looks are oft

More eloquent than speech.

The smile that gilds a friendly faceShall never meet his eye;Songs, footsteps, laughter, tears, give placeTo dreary vacancy.

The smile that gilds a friendly face

Shall never meet his eye;

Songs, footsteps, laughter, tears, give place

To dreary vacancy.

Silence and darkness, brethren twainFor ever at his side,Still hold him in their double chainInexorably tied.

Silence and darkness, brethren twain

For ever at his side,

Still hold him in their double chain

Inexorably tied.

Yet love is stronger still, and sheEven hither wins her way,And soothes the long captivityBeneath that iron sway.

Yet love is stronger still, and she

Even hither wins her way,

And soothes the long captivity

Beneath that iron sway.

Such tenderness, long years ago,The nymphs of ocean ledTo stern Prometheus stretched in woeUpon his stony bed.

Such tenderness, long years ago,

The nymphs of ocean led

To stern Prometheus stretched in woe

Upon his stony bed.

Or in the shape of insect, flower,Or bird has helped to cheer,In later times, full many an hourOf bondage, sad and drear.

Or in the shape of insect, flower,

Or bird has helped to cheer,

In later times, full many an hour

Of bondage, sad and drear.

But what can comfort, like the heartThat sorrow's self has known;Since that has learnt the healing artFrom sufferings of its own.

But what can comfort, like the heart

That sorrow's self has known;

Since that has learnt the healing art

From sufferings of its own.

And casting selfish grief awayForgets its own distressIn sorrows heavier still, that preyOn some more comfortless.

And casting selfish grief away

Forgets its own distress

In sorrows heavier still, that prey

On some more comfortless.

This she has learnt—the secret thisOf her calm life below;This gives those lips that sober blissAnd smoothes that peaceful brow.

This she has learnt—the secret this

Of her calm life below;

This gives those lips that sober bliss

And smoothes that peaceful brow.

Yet more; the love of human kind,How pure soe'er it be,Can never fill the heart, designedTo grasp infinity.

Yet more; the love of human kind,

How pure soe'er it be,

Can never fill the heart, designed

To grasp infinity.

True, when the night of grief is darkIt gladdens us to kenThe distant cottage fires, and markThe peaceful homes of men.

True, when the night of grief is dark

It gladdens us to ken

The distant cottage fires, and mark

The peaceful homes of men.

But such as upward lift their eyeWill see a worthier sight,The myriad stars, that in the skySeem homes for angels bright.

But such as upward lift their eye

Will see a worthier sight,

The myriad stars, that in the sky

Seem homes for angels bright.

Thus guided they pursue their wayThro' loneliest heath and dell,Till on their work of mercy, theyCome where their brethren dwell.

Thus guided they pursue their way

Thro' loneliest heath and dell,

Till on their work of mercy, they

Come where their brethren dwell.

And such as she no earthly glowWould e'er suffice for them,Shine on her, 'mid these dwellings low,Thou Star of Bethlehem!

And such as she no earthly glow

Would e'er suffice for them,

Shine on her, 'mid these dwellings low,

Thou Star of Bethlehem!

The "Song of Elizabeth" from theSaint's Tragedywas published during the year 1859, and Bessie writes to Addison and Hollier to say that instead of an engraving she will have theprice-list of the Association on the title-page. This remarkable decision they seem to have induced her to abandon, for the title-page is of the ordinary kind. There were at this time about a hundred and fifty blind persons deriving benefit from the Association: sixty-three were supplied with work at their own homes; forty-seven were employed at the Euston Road; the remainder were pupils, agents, travellers, shopman, and superintendent, whilst three received pensions. So many more were applying for work and instruction that at the May meeting the Bishop of Oxford offered a donation of £20 on condition that nineteen similar donations were announced in a given time. He thus raised £400 for the relief of some of the more pressing cases amongst the applicants. The increase of workmen made an increase in the sales necessary, and the trade of the Association was assuming formidable dimensions. The buying and selling, the control of workrooms and management of stock, the care of ledgers, accounts, bills and receipts, might now with great advantage have been made over to a competent and adequately paid sighted manager. Such an arrangement would have left Bessie free to devote herself to the charitable part of her enterprise; to elevate and educate the blind, to investigate cases, and make experiment with trades. With Levy as her faithful coadjutor how much might she not have done!

She was pledged, however, to a more ambitious attempt, and felt herself bound in honour to showwhat the blind can do alone and unaided. A proposal was made in January 1859 to employ a "sighted" accountant, but as this was opposed by Bessie it was not carried. And yet at this very time the incessant and anxious work of past years was beginning to tell upon her, and she had urgent need of rest.

She was mainly responsible for the funds necessary to carry on the business. Being familiar with every detail of the business, she was called upon to explain its intricacies to her Committee. She had often to justify and secure the carrying out of arrangements which did not meet with general approval. Every scheme, proposal, experiment, rested ultimately upon her; upon this one blind lady, whose health had never been good, but whose strenuous energy and strong sense of duty forbade her to say no to any appeal on behalf of fellow-sufferers.

Museum, boarding-house, sick fund, musicians' association, with its classes for vocal and instrumental music, endowment fund, fund for establishing a West-end shop, fund in aid of tradesmen who had lost their sight; all these are the outcome of a single year's work. There are also letters innumerable to be written and answered, appeals to be made, applications to be replied to. She threw herself with fervid zeal into all her work, and a day was accounted lost if she had not accomplished in it something for the Association.

Two sisters were married in 1858, but the diary contains no other record of such importantevents than "unavoidably nothing done." Her heart beat warm and true as ever, home and friends were dear as ever, but for a time her horizon was bounded by the narrow walls of one small dark house in the Euston Road.

Herr Hirzel, director of the blind institution at Lausanne, who had visited the Association during the summer, was so well pleased with all he saw that he decided on his return to Switzerland to open workshops for the blind. At different times some six institutions had also applied for teachers or blind superintendents, but no workmen had been trained or were qualified to fill such posts. Bessie saw that this was an omission in her scheme, and at once resolved that special facilities for the training of intelligent blind men ought to be provided.

In the autumn, however, the long threatened reaction from overwork set in, and she was prostrated by weakness and depression. In November she was induced to try the effect of complete rest, and paid a long promised visit to Miss Isabella Law, at Northrepps Rectory, near Cromer.

She took with her a Foucault frame and taught Miss Law to use it, and what further employment she found during her short holiday is best told in Miss Law's letters.

Writing at Christmas 1859 she says:

It is just six weeks to-day since you left us. I can never forget that miserable morning; it is always haunting me like a dreadful dream that I try in vain to get rid of.... I hardly know what to tell you about myself; it isa very difficult subject to write about. I have been trying to do more in the school lately than I ever did before. I think of you when I am there, and try to do my best. Still I am afraid, as Madame Goldschmidt said of the clergyman, my best is very little. My sisters are going next week to spend a few days with some friends in the neighbourhood: how I should like to have you with me then. I remember so well your once speaking to me about accustoming myself to be alone whenever it was necessary, and not to depend too much on others for companionship, so now you see I am going to have a little trial in that way. You will think of me then, won't you? and I shall be thinking of you more than ever.... I took a bit of my writing this morning to show the school children, and they seemed delighted with it.... I must say good-bye now, ... and how much love I send I never could tell you.

On the 5th of January 1860 Miss Law writes:

I sincerely hope that this new year may be a very happy one to you and to all who are dear to you. It seems so strange to me to look back to this time last year. I feel somehow as if a change had come over my life since then. I mean I seem to see things in quite a new light, and to feel my responsibilities far more than I did before; and I know it is all through your influence. I feel it would have been indeed a happy year to me if the only blessing it had brought me had been your friendship, which I value far more than I can ever tell you.... My heart clings to every little remembrance of you one by one, and they are all very dear to me.

No account of her life would be adequate which did not bring out the stimulating effect of Bessie's friendship, and the way in which even an hour spent with her would have its result, and open away to useful activity. Miss Law was specially influenced with regard to her poems, in which Bessie took a warm interest. At first they were sent for approval and criticism, but before long Miss Law was more than able to stand alone, and she published a small volume, which was well received and favourably noticed.

The following pretty lines have been preserved amongst Bessie's papers:—

Will you please tell me very truly what you think of this little poem? You know I have a great respect for your opinion, and that is why I send it.What is Sympathy?It is the perfect tune that liesUnderneath all harmonies.The brook that sings in summertideBetween the flowers on either side.It is that voiceless under part,That, still unheard, heart sings to heart.The interchange of thoughts that lieToo deep for louder melody.The breath that makes the lyre moveWith silent echoings of love.Isabella Law.

Will you please tell me very truly what you think of this little poem? You know I have a great respect for your opinion, and that is why I send it.

What is Sympathy?It is the perfect tune that liesUnderneath all harmonies.The brook that sings in summertideBetween the flowers on either side.It is that voiceless under part,That, still unheard, heart sings to heart.The interchange of thoughts that lieToo deep for louder melody.The breath that makes the lyre moveWith silent echoings of love.Isabella Law.

What is Sympathy?

It is the perfect tune that liesUnderneath all harmonies.The brook that sings in summertideBetween the flowers on either side.It is that voiceless under part,That, still unheard, heart sings to heart.The interchange of thoughts that lieToo deep for louder melody.The breath that makes the lyre moveWith silent echoings of love.Isabella Law.

It is the perfect tune that lies

Underneath all harmonies.

The brook that sings in summertide

Between the flowers on either side.

It is that voiceless under part,

That, still unheard, heart sings to heart.

The interchange of thoughts that lie

Too deep for louder melody.

The breath that makes the lyre move

With silent echoings of love.

Isabella Law.

Bessie paid other short visits to old friends at this time. We hear of her with Miss Bathurst at Stanmore, and greatly interested in Miss Bathurst's most honoured friend, Lady Byron. She also stayed with Miss Butler, who remembers that one day when she was about to mount her horse Bessie stood stroking his legs, saying: "Surely this must be thorough-bred." Another time, asBessie stood near him, the horse stretched out his head and took the rose she was wearing so gently from her dress that she did not know it until she was told that he was eating it. Bessie used to drive in a pony carriage with Miss Butler, and to puzzle her hostess by a request for a description of the scenery.

On one occasion a gentleman who had become recently blind was asked to meet Bessie at Stanmore. It was very touching to see her sit by the blind man's side, take his hand and try to encourage and comfort him. Work for others, help for others; these were the things she told him that would make life worth living, and her own ardour was able to inspire him as well as others with hope and energy.

FOOTNOTES:[7]Town and Country Sermons; 18. "Character of Peter."[8]Page 8.

[7]Town and Country Sermons; 18. "Character of Peter."

[8]Page 8.

"Good times and bad times and all times pass over."Bewick's Vignettes.

"Good times and bad times and all times pass over."

Bewick's Vignettes.

Bishop Gilbert's family circle was fast diminishing. His eldest son and four daughters were married. Thesisterhoodwas broken up. Numerous home duties at Chichester and in London, together with the care of parents whose health was beginning to fail, engrossed the time and thought of the daughters at home. Bessie still received sympathy and assistance, but she lived a very independent life, and relied more and more upon the services of a confidential maid, who wrote her letters, made the entries in diary, note-book, and journal, from which we have taken extracts, and accompanied her wherever she went.

Her entire absorption in the work of the Institution could not fail to become a source of isolation; and it began to cause anxiety to parents and friends. They knew her delicacy and the need in which she stood of constant watchful care, and they followed her with apprehension asshe sailed out into the ocean of labour and endeavour.

Some remonstrances from old and dear friends reached her, and the faithful Fraülein D. wrote as follows:

Don't you allow that one great interest to absorb all others.... Remember that our very virtues can become snares of sin to us if we do not watch ourselves, our purest actions may lead us wrong. One great difficulty we have to deal with, in this our so complex state of trial, is to keep within us an even balance of things. Do the one thing, but do not leave the others undone, and above all seek, in all we do, not our own but the glory of God.... Don't you show a little want of faith and trust in your own eagerness and over-anxiety about your Institution, which, though most laudable in itself, may become a snare to you if it makes you neglect duties quite as, if not more, sacred?

Bessie preserved this letter, and in her humility she would lay it deeply to heart; but she knew that the Institution was not a work in which she sought her own glory. She was labouring for the blind, who depended upon her, and whom she could not forsake. She had "put her hand to the plough," and could not draw back.

In a very different tone we find a few words from her father, written after Miss Law had paid Bessie a visit in Queen Anne Street.

Palace, Chichester,28th September 1860.My Dearest Bessie—They tell me it will be a doleful parting between you and poor Miss Law, especially on her side, which I can well understand, as she has not the resource in active occupation which you have.Your mistake and suffering may be in taking too much of it, without allowing yourself, or rather, taking as a part of duty also, thedélassementof passing events, of social conversation and intercourse. Well, this is not exactly what I meant to say, but it may do on the principle of "a word to the wise." They tell me too you want £15, so here is my cheque for £15 and Archdeacon Mackenzie's, also on Coutts's, for £20. He says only it is a donation for your Institution in Euston Road. H. told me you have a notion he gave it for some specified purpose, the West End, for instance, but he says nothing of the kind. The cheques are each of them payable just as they are on being presented at Coutts's. I have acknowledged the £20 to the Archdeacon. Those at home do doubtless give you the chitchat news.... I suppose some one will write besides me, so I only add that I am, my dearest Bessie, yr. ever affectionate father,A. T. Cicestr.

Palace, Chichester,28th September 1860.

My Dearest Bessie—They tell me it will be a doleful parting between you and poor Miss Law, especially on her side, which I can well understand, as she has not the resource in active occupation which you have.Your mistake and suffering may be in taking too much of it, without allowing yourself, or rather, taking as a part of duty also, thedélassementof passing events, of social conversation and intercourse. Well, this is not exactly what I meant to say, but it may do on the principle of "a word to the wise." They tell me too you want £15, so here is my cheque for £15 and Archdeacon Mackenzie's, also on Coutts's, for £20. He says only it is a donation for your Institution in Euston Road. H. told me you have a notion he gave it for some specified purpose, the West End, for instance, but he says nothing of the kind. The cheques are each of them payable just as they are on being presented at Coutts's. I have acknowledged the £20 to the Archdeacon. Those at home do doubtless give you the chitchat news.... I suppose some one will write besides me, so I only add that I am, my dearest Bessie, yr. ever affectionate father,

A. T. Cicestr.

In the early part of 1860 Miss Bathurst wrote to congratulate Bessie on a "noble donation," coming "doubtless in answer to the law that they that seek shall find," and the donation has a pleasant history.

One day when Bessie was in Queen Anne Street a servant told her that a lady wished to see Miss Gilbert. She went downstairs accompanied, as usual, by her maid, and on entering the room found one whom she discovered by her voice to be a very old lady, whose first words were:

"My dear, I am very tired; send your maid for a glass of sherry."

This was done, and when she had finished the sherry the old lady said:

"My dear, I bring a contribution for your work. You see my relations have kept me a long time from having the control of my money, and now I am determined they shall never get a penny of it."

Then she turned to the maid who had brought the sherry: "Young woman," she said, "count these notes."

They were carefully wrapped in newspaper, ten notes for £50 each, and every note in its own piece of newspaper. They were duly counted and passed to Bessie. "You will acknowledge them, my dear," said the old lady, "in theTimesand under initials."

And that was all. No more was ever heard of her, and there was no clue to her identity.

Singularly enough there was a second donation of £500, also from a lady, in October of the same year. The first announcement of it came from Levy, who writes from 127 Euston Road.

17th October 1860.Dear Madam—In speaking finances yesterday I said that we could do nothing more than we had done unless God sent us a special blessing. God has sent us a special blessing in a donation ofFive Hundred Pounds.His instrument in this gift is a lady, who did not wish her name mentioned, but Mr. Evans, the gentleman to whose discretion the giving or holding the donation was left, quite agreed with me that her name should be published. Her name is Miss Terry.—I am, dear madam, yours truly,W. H. Levy.

17th October 1860.

Dear Madam—In speaking finances yesterday I said that we could do nothing more than we had done unless God sent us a special blessing. God has sent us a special blessing in a donation of

Five Hundred Pounds.

His instrument in this gift is a lady, who did not wish her name mentioned, but Mr. Evans, the gentleman to whose discretion the giving or holding the donation was left, quite agreed with me that her name should be published. Her name is Miss Terry.—I am, dear madam, yours truly,

W. H. Levy.

The following letter is from the Mr. Evans alluded to:

17th October 1860.Madam—I think it will give you pleasure to be informed that, having £500 placed in my hands yesterday for a Blind Institution, I searched out the one with which you were said to be connected. After going round Euston Square twice, calling at the wrong places, I at last traced it to the Euston Road, where I saw the Report and Mr. Levy. When I told him my object he literally cried for joy, and this I think will be interesting also to you to know. The lady who gives this handsome donation is Miss Mercy E. Terry of Odiham, Hants, through her bankers, Messrs. Child and Co. I need not say, rejoicing as I do in such charitable gifts, that it affords me very considerable pleasure in being the bearer of this intelligence to you, although a stranger, as greatly interested in the aforesaid Institution. The money has this day been paid to Messrs. Williams and Co. on account of the Society.—I am, madam, yours very obedly.,E. P. Evans.

17th October 1860.

Madam—I think it will give you pleasure to be informed that, having £500 placed in my hands yesterday for a Blind Institution, I searched out the one with which you were said to be connected. After going round Euston Square twice, calling at the wrong places, I at last traced it to the Euston Road, where I saw the Report and Mr. Levy. When I told him my object he literally cried for joy, and this I think will be interesting also to you to know. The lady who gives this handsome donation is Miss Mercy E. Terry of Odiham, Hants, through her bankers, Messrs. Child and Co. I need not say, rejoicing as I do in such charitable gifts, that it affords me very considerable pleasure in being the bearer of this intelligence to you, although a stranger, as greatly interested in the aforesaid Institution. The money has this day been paid to Messrs. Williams and Co. on account of the Society.—I am, madam, yours very obedly.,

E. P. Evans.

Bessie, in acknowledging the letter, asks if the donation is in response to an appeal for help. Mr. Evans replies: "Thanks are due to Miss Terry alone, but chiefly to a watchful Providence who so appropriately guided her charity to your Institution in need of it. Your individual application had no influence in the matter; for, in fact, applications of that kind are so numerous that it is not my practice to give them attention. I did not know that you had written until you told me; but now I find that you did so, because your letter lies amongst others put aside.

"Your wishes and prayers are, however,answered in another way, and that is very satisfactory."

These donations gladdened Bessie's heart, and were frequently referred to as coming at a time when heavy pecuniary anxiety was pressing upon her. She had applied this year to Mr. Tatton of Manchester, but he replied that it would be impossible to raise funds in Manchester for a London institution; people would feel that the many indigent blind in Lancashire and Cheshire had a stronger claim upon them. He wishes her success, and informs her that they are busily engaged in erecting a large addition to the Blind Asylum in Manchester to enable them to carry out the system of teaching trades to, and finding regular employment for, non-resident blind. "The success of your Association," he adds, "in establishing and carrying out such a system, has been one main cause of inducing us to take such steps as will enable us, although at a very heavy cost, to give the plan a fair trial in Manchester, and I feel very sanguine as to its success."

This information would give as much pleasure in its own way as the announcement of a donation of £500.

In addition to her autograph letters, a circular asking for custom for the Institution, and signed by the Rev. W. Champneys, Sir John Anson, and the Rev. Pelham Dale, was issued in 1860. These earnest, patient, importunate appeals went steadily on; they were written by herself or by any friend whose sympathy she could enlist, and sent to anyand every newspaper that would consent to insert them. But in spite of all efforts stock was increasing, sales diminishing, and an augmented number of blind applicants clamouring for admission. The boarding-house began to be a source of anxiety, not only on account of the expense connected with it, but by reason of the character of many of the inmates. Blind men were sent to the London boarding-house at the suggestion and with the warm approval of persons interested in them; and in the belief that they would learn a trade and earn their own living. But in many cases the man only looked upon London as a happy hunting ground. The last thing he intended to do when he got there was to work. He wanted a comfortable home, a small and certain allowance, and to beg in the London streets. Tied up together are letters warmly recommending a man to the benefits of the Institution, detailing his many virtues as well as his needs, followed by others from the same writer sorrowfully recognising failure, and very frequently acknowledging that the man was "at his old tricks again."

Bessie's faith in her cause was unshaken even by these painful experiences. She showed infinite pity and tenderness to all blind applicants, and gave to each one who was admitted a fair opportunity to improve and reform. She believed that honesty, goodness, and habits of industry were constantly found beneath the garb of the blind beggar, and that he must not be judged by the ordinary standard, because his condition of idlenesshad been enforced, and was often of long standing. She learned to know all the temptations to which the blind were exposed, and whilst she fully recognised and acknowledged them, she endeavoured to show a way of escape. In spite of many failures she could point to individuals and families rescued from beggary and placed in a position to which it had seemed impossible even to aspire.

Still, with all allowances which her wide charity and large experiences were ready to make, it soon became apparent that a boarding-house for blind men and women conducted by a blind man would not answer. Abuses crept or rather leapt in, and Bessie, suffering and depressed, was unable to intervene actively, as she would have done if her health had permitted. There seemed to be no alternative, and the boarding-house was closed.

Mrs. Powell, sister of the Rev. F. D. Maurice, and twin sister of Mrs. Julius Hare, was one of Bessie's old and dear friends. She was a member of the Committee of the Association, and took keen interest in its work. We learn from her letters that Bessie was too ill to take part in the arrangements for the workpeople at Christmas 1860, or to attend the Committee meeting in January 1861. Mrs. Powell sends a prescription for a plaster "which seems to do wonders in neuralgia, and in soothing the brain after there has been any strain upon it."

Miss Bathurst also writes frequently at this time. "How earnestly I hope sleep may be given back to you," she says. "Those long nights ofwaking will try you sorely." She tells of a sermon preached by Mr. Maurice on the text, "Endeavouring to keep the unity of the spirit," and how he had dwelt on the change in the meaning of the word endeavour since it was first used by the translators, and that it was at that time a word full of energy, implying, "Put out all your force as for something which you are capable of accomplishing."

But Bessie was in no condition to receive encouragement from words which would at another time have roused her like the call of a trumpet.

The day of endeavour was for the present at an end; weary months passed on, and her condition was unchanged. An abscess formed in the lower jaw, and, after consultation, it was resolved to remove eleven teeth. It was also decided to perform this severe operation all at one time and without the use of chloroform. There were special difficulties on account of the condition of Bessie's throat and the adjacent tissues which seemed at the time to justify this decision; but the result was disastrous, almost fatal. It was months before she rallied from the shock of the acute and prolonged pain. When, three weeks after the operation, she was at the lowest ebb and her condition very critical, it was discovered that the spire of Chichester Cathedral was in imminent danger and must shortly fall. Just that part of the palace in which her room was situated was believed to be in danger of being crushed if the spire fell, and it was absolutely necessary that she should be removed. The Deanand Mrs. Hook made immediate preparations to receive her at the Deanery, which was supposed to be out of danger. She was taken from her bed on the 21st of February 1861, and carried to the safest room in the palace, but before she could be removed from the house the spire fell, collapsing like a house of cards, injuring no animate thing, and doing little harm to any other part of the structure. Bessie was really proud of that spire. It had been good and beautiful in life, and its fall was the type of a peaceful and appropriate end. Chichester mourned its loss; it was, as the local journal said, "the most symmetrical spire in England, on which the eye of Her Majesty and her Royal Consort when in the Isle of Wight must have sometimes rested with delight."

To the blind lady the cathedral and its beautiful spire had also been very dear. But as she had been too ill for apprehension, so she was at first spared the sharp pang of regret. Many months of prostration followed the dental operation, and it was more than a year before she was again restored to health. As soon as she could attend to letters, she received frequent reports of the work in London. The underground railway was in course of construction, and had blocked the Euston Road. Trade was annihilated there, and the blind had lost all ready-money custom. Debts were assuming ominous proportions, and Levy, upon whom the whole strain and responsibility now fell, showed signs of failing health.

Mrs. Powell wrote on the 7th of May 1861from Palace Gardens, to give Bessie an account of the Committee meeting. She said that:

Levy was in a weakly, nervous state, soon exhausted. He said it was nervous fever from which he suffered, and that the doctor told him he must have rest. In his absence from the room it was proposed to arrange that he might spend every Saturday and Sunday out of London. Mr. Dixon, the oculist, who was a member of the Committee, said he must be careful not to go too far, as in a weak state of health people suffered more than they gained by long railway journeys. Levy came back into the room and announced that nothing could be done or thought of till "the annual meeting" was over. There was a debt of £1400 hanging over the Institution, half of it trade debt, and half from customers who could not be got to pay ready money; and Levy announced that the loss of custom from the underground railway stopping access to the shop amounted to £20 a week.

Mrs. Powell concludes by saying:

I need not add that much sympathy and regret were expressed by the Committee at your continued weakness and suffering, and all hoped soon to see you there again. I know how anxious you must feel to be amongst them; but you will remember "your strength is now to sit still," until it can be said "Arise, He calleth thee." In patience you will possess your spirit. May God bless you at all times.

On the 13th of May the Bishop writes to give an account of the annual meeting held at St. James's Hall, and presided over by the Bishop of London.

Queen Anne Street, W.,13th May 1861.My very dear Bessie—Ford [her maid] gives a most encouraging account of your progress and walkingperformances, and I can reciprocate with a capital one of this day's meeting. The room was quite full, galleries and all; 2067 were stated to be present. There were some donations, but I have not heard yet the amount of the collection.It is clear to me the Association has now taken its footing in London and in the nation, and that with God's blessing it will go on and become a national Institution, and that you, my dear child, may humbly rejoice in it. I have not time for more.—Yr. ever affectionate father,A. T. Cicestr.

Queen Anne Street, W.,13th May 1861.

My very dear Bessie—Ford [her maid] gives a most encouraging account of your progress and walkingperformances, and I can reciprocate with a capital one of this day's meeting. The room was quite full, galleries and all; 2067 were stated to be present. There were some donations, but I have not heard yet the amount of the collection.

It is clear to me the Association has now taken its footing in London and in the nation, and that with God's blessing it will go on and become a national Institution, and that you, my dear child, may humbly rejoice in it. I have not time for more.—Yr. ever affectionate father,

A. T. Cicestr.

Such a letter would greatly help forward Bessie's convalescence, which, though slow, was beginning to show signs of progress. In July a letter from Levy must have reassured her as to the state of his health, and it is interesting as the description of a blind man at a fire, with all his wits about him, and other blind men to help him.

127Euston Road,3d July 1861.Dear Madam—Last night a fire of an alarming character broke out nearly opposite the Institution, and at one time our premises were placed in great danger, large masses of fire falling thickly over our premises for upwards of half an hour.It is a matter of thankfulness that I was at home.Our officers and other people hastened from their homes to our assistance. I caused the cocoa-matting to be taken from the floors, immersed in water, and spread over the roof, and every vessel capable of holding water was filled and passed from hand to hand in regular succession, so that the stream was continually kept up on all exposed parts.The office books were tied in blankets ready to be carried away, but providentially the wind changed and we were relieved from anxiety. Four houses weredestroyed or injured, but the only damage we have received is from the water, which is very slight—I am, dear madam, yours truly,W. H. Levy.

127Euston Road,3d July 1861.

Dear Madam—Last night a fire of an alarming character broke out nearly opposite the Institution, and at one time our premises were placed in great danger, large masses of fire falling thickly over our premises for upwards of half an hour.

It is a matter of thankfulness that I was at home.

Our officers and other people hastened from their homes to our assistance. I caused the cocoa-matting to be taken from the floors, immersed in water, and spread over the roof, and every vessel capable of holding water was filled and passed from hand to hand in regular succession, so that the stream was continually kept up on all exposed parts.

The office books were tied in blankets ready to be carried away, but providentially the wind changed and we were relieved from anxiety. Four houses weredestroyed or injured, but the only damage we have received is from the water, which is very slight—I am, dear madam, yours truly,

W. H. Levy.

During the early summer of 1861 a tent was set up in the garden at Chichester, to which Bessie was carried on all suitable days. She was happy with birds and trees and flowers around her, and received visits from many old and tried friends. Her recovery was very slow, but there was always sufficient progress to point to the ultimate restoration of health.

Throughout the year the workpeople sent affectionate greetings and appreciative verses to their generous friend and patron. Bessie resumed the occupations of her youth, and in the months of her enforced absence from London and the work of the Association she wrote long poems and gave her time to music and reading.

With a view to publication, she submitted some of her poems to her old friend, the Rev. H. Browne, asking for a candid opinion. He writes as follows:

Pevensey, Eastbourne,15th August 1861.Dear Bessie—I have read your poems, and, as you desired, have criticised closely. The faults are chiefly in the versification. Here and there I suspect they have not been written down correctly from your dictation. The thoughts, sentiments, and images are very pleasing, and the expression generally good. That on "The Poplar Leaves" is exceedingly pretty and gracefully expressed. It needs but a few alterations to make it all that it should be. "Spring" is striking in point of thought, but the versification should flow more smoothly, and the diction here and there needs correction."Thoughts Suggested by a Wakeful Night" are so good that I should like to see them made as perfect as possible, and as blank verse needs more finish than rhyme this task will need some pains. I hope you will not be discouraged at my criticism. If you think of sending any of these poems to some magazine "The Poplar Leaves" would best lead the way. I am sorry I cannot help you in this, having no connection with that kind of periodical literature nor any acquaintance with its conductors. You will see that I have made no notes on "Jessie." There are many pleasing lines in it, but it wants unity, the introductory part having no necessary connection with the catastrophe, and the latter being only a distressing accident....

Pevensey, Eastbourne,15th August 1861.

Dear Bessie—I have read your poems, and, as you desired, have criticised closely. The faults are chiefly in the versification. Here and there I suspect they have not been written down correctly from your dictation. The thoughts, sentiments, and images are very pleasing, and the expression generally good. That on "The Poplar Leaves" is exceedingly pretty and gracefully expressed. It needs but a few alterations to make it all that it should be. "Spring" is striking in point of thought, but the versification should flow more smoothly, and the diction here and there needs correction.

"Thoughts Suggested by a Wakeful Night" are so good that I should like to see them made as perfect as possible, and as blank verse needs more finish than rhyme this task will need some pains. I hope you will not be discouraged at my criticism. If you think of sending any of these poems to some magazine "The Poplar Leaves" would best lead the way. I am sorry I cannot help you in this, having no connection with that kind of periodical literature nor any acquaintance with its conductors. You will see that I have made no notes on "Jessie." There are many pleasing lines in it, but it wants unity, the introductory part having no necessary connection with the catastrophe, and the latter being only a distressing accident....

The poems, which with returning health and strength were laid aside, are very defective in form, but the thoughts and feelings that were a solace to the blind lady cannot fail to interest the reader. These poems also show what the Chichester garden was to her, and what intellectual interests and resources she had when she was incapable of the active work of her Association.

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