In the Camden School there is to be a marble bust, the gift of the same generous donors, who have already done so much to beautify the schools.
But the memorial which would most have pleased her whose name it will bear is in the Travelling Scholarships, to which the public subscriptions are to be devoted. In keeping with the large-heartedness which knew no bounds, the benefit of these Scholarships will not be confined to the two schools of which she was the founder. It is hoped that many a worn and jaded teacher may thus derive from foreign travel the rest and refreshment which so often sent Miss Buss herself back to work with renewed vigour; and it can scarcely be doubted that in extent these Scholarships will prove worthy of one who so largely gave to others.
The account given by Miss Burstall of the re-opening of the school after the great change that had come upon it is full of interest—
“The opening of school on the first day of term was a strange, but inspiring and impressive, ceremony, which none of those present are likely to forget. The dark ranks of the girls, as they stood for prayers, the black dresses of the teachers, the laurel wreath hung above our dear Founder’s portrait, the empty great chair, which would never be filled again by her we had seen there so often—all told the story which the funeral hymns[[21]] sung before and after prayers reiterated. When the short, very short, service was concluded, the Rev. A. J. Buss came forward, and first, on behalf of the family, thanked the staff for their work (a very labour of love indeed) in organizing the funeral arrangements, and the girls for their singing on the sad occasion. He then, as Clerk to the Governors, went on to say that the Governors had been unable, owing to the shortness of the time that had elapsed, to make any final arrangement, but that they had asked Mrs. Bryant to take the post of acting Head-mistress during the term.
“Mrs. Bryant, after saying a few words in response to Mr. Buss, gave a short address, expressing (as she said) the thoughts and memories that rose to the surface in trying to realize the greatness of the leader who had passed from among us. Sympathy, absolute devotion of self, extraordinary energy of will, marvellous charity—these one thought of as they had been shown year after year in counsel, in delight in other’s pleasures, in carrying ideas into action, in patience and help to inferior workers, in honour and appreciation to talent, in raising the weak, in strengthening the strong.
“The thrill of emotion, of loyalty, of sorrow, and of hope, which passed through the hearts of so many of us as she spoke, is too personal, too sacred for expression. It was a relief when music, that divine art which begins where words end, came to speak regret and aspiration, as the solemn chords of the Dead March in ‘Saul’ flowed from the organ. Just at this moment, a little after 9.30 a.m., a winter thunderstorm rolled up. The light grew fainter, the wind sounded round the building; still the music pealed on as the darkness gathered, rising stronger and fuller in its confidence of triumph over death, when, just at the climax of the melody, a flash of lightning blazed for an instant like an answering fire from the heavenly world. It was a strange coincidence, but it was not the first time that Nature had seemed to sympathize with our grief and with our consolation. The flowers and the winter sunshine of New Year’s Eve, the softly-falling benediction of the snow in the churchyard at Theydon—these had their meaning. So, too, had the symbol of power, of energy, of light in darkness, when the New Year began with its new work and its new, yet old, inspiration.”
[21]. “The saints of God, their conflict passed,” and “Peace, perfect peace.”
The music ceased, and all stood for a moment in silence, till, as Miss Fawcett tells us—
“Mrs. Bryant said very quietly, ‘The classes will now pass to their own rooms as usual!’ and, as we obeyed, the clouds cleared away, and the place was soon flooded with brilliant sunshine. ‘Le roi est mort: vive le roi!’ was the thought in all minds. But our new Head had taken her stand on the old order of things, and there is sweetness in our sadness.”
Owing to some technicalities which could not be set aside, the post of Head-mistress was still not filled officially either on the Foundation Day or Prize Day, June 27, 1895, and these may therefore be counted as the last days of the old régime, the beloved Founder still holding supreme rule, through the self-effacing loyalty with which her successor did honour to the cherished memory.[[22]]