‘(1) That in Nature is revealed an intelligence whose limits we cannot see; One, i.e. infinitely wise and mighty. (2) In good men we see benevolence, the earnest desire to bless up to the limits of their power. In the Christ we see this without any limit of selfishness, and we say, If Man, the Son, is thus loving, then the Father is love. “No man knoweth the Father, but the Son.” We can approach God, so as to know the character of God, only thus, it seems to me. You have here the argument of Saul (Browning). Then when you allege against the witness of the heart, the facts of Nature, I answer that however inexplicable by us these facts are, this witness for God, which comes from within, cannot be overthrown.

‘Nor, indeed, does that fact of animals preying on one another trouble me much. Death to them, i.e. the stopping of the activities of life suddenly, whilst they are in full vigour, seems better than the gradual decay of sickness. There is with them no anticipation and no joy in cruelty.

‘The facts of moral evil, those are what seem to overwhelm one at times. There are children born into such terrible surroundings, we say. There again we can see a little way up into the darkness, and trust. We do see that the redemption of the lost is often effected by the knowledge that others suffer through their sin....

‘Do we not know enough of our interests and God’s infinite wisdom to make us trust God for the universal good? Men must be left to work out the consequences of evil, to bear them, and learn it is God’s purpose for them to rise out of the darkness into increasing love of His holy will. At length regenerated humanity will so enter into sympathy with the Spirit of God mediated through the indwelling Christ, that things in Heaven and earth will be recapitulated in Him the Head, and will become intelligently and lovingly obedient to that will. The cost of suffering is as nothing compared with the infinite good. I can only sketch the outline of my faith.’

The letter which follows was written to a pupil who, while she was at school, did not personally know Miss Beale very well. A talk at a Guild meeting eleven years after she left revealed to Miss Beale’s penetrating eye some distress caused by disillusionment and disappointment. A fortnight afterwards she wrote:—

‘July 1898.

‘I have so often thought of our interrupted conversation, and must take a bit of my first Saturday evening to write a line.

‘You were feeling, I judge, somewhat as Wordsworth did when he wrote the Ode on Immortality. This is, I think, how the matter stands. When we are young, we think that perfection, i.e. the ideal, can be found on earth—we set up, perhaps, some earthly idol, and endow it with every excellence. Then we find that we have been in a measure mistaken. What shall we do? Doubtless there does then come upon us the shadow of a great darkness, as we find how much evil there is, and we are tempted to believe the lying word of Satan, that the kingdoms of the world are his. Shall we then lower our ideal, say we will conform to that which is, or believe the heavenly proclamation—“the kingdoms of this world are become the kingdoms of our Lord and of His Christ”—and work on to make this as true as we can for our own souls, and for those near us? We see that the ideals cannot be realised on earth, because this is a place of discipline. Many make a worldly marriage because they give up their ideal, and conform to what is, instead of ever striving to bring about what ought to be—nothing can make that right. But on the other hand we must be content to be the companions of those who, like ourselves, are “compassed about with infirmities,” to arm them for the fight with evil, and to love those who are not perfect, as Britomart did the Red Cross Knight. What I want you all to keep before you is that one day the ideal will be realised, as the Bible and our own hearts assure us, and to join the army of light and go right on, confident of eventual victory. You have, my dear child, a somewhat heavy burden of responsibility for your age, and you miss the sustaining hand, but you must not look down, but up! Take our first Cambridge Room motto:

“As the soar falcon, so I strive to fly,

In contemplation of the immortal sky.”