‘Sept. 24.
‘I have started to-day a temporary drawing-class for the five poor little boys who have to stay here all during the holidays. They are so pleased. It was a pleasure to me to see them all seated, busy with pencil and paper, instead of lounging about wearily. I did not succeed in making them do a bit of carpentering for me.
‘The drawing lesson was a lesson to me, dear. After my own fashion, it seemed to me a type, and—strange as it may seem to you—a type bearing on the disputed subject of perfection in this life. We are all children,—the sooner we realise this, the better!—and the Lord sets us a copy; not a poor little one, such as I placed before the boys, but a perfect, exquisite one. Now, I imagine three of our boys drawing as nicely as they can, and then coming to me with their copies.
‘The first is very happy indeed. “It is quite perfect!” says he. “My dear child, you may think so, but I do not think so. Take your measuring paper, and go over your copy more carefully; and you will see that not all the lines are straight.”
‘The second comes to me, crying. “I shall never manage my copy,” sighs he. “It is not a quarter as good as the picture, and yet I took such pains!” “Yes, dear boy, I see that you have taken pains; and that is all that I require. You will do better in time. But dry your tears. Did you really think that I should be angry with you, because your drawing is not perfect?”
‘The third looks modestly into my face, to see if he has pleased me. He knows that he has tried to please me; and though he has not succeeded in making a perfect drawing, he has succeeded in pleasing.
‘The third child is the one whom I should most wish to resemble. He trusts me!’
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘Oct. 14, 1883.