I have already had my holiday for this year, having spent June in driving about (with the white pony) in the Perthshire highlands with my friend, Miss Du Pre. I think there is hardly any kind of holiday that rests one so much. You should persuade your Father to take you all in a waggonette, a long drive into Scotland or to the English Lakes. If you should decide on Scotland, I should hope to find this house used as a stopping-place. I think I could take you all in pretty comfortably.
Remember me very kindly to Mr. Unwin, and believe me
Yours very truly,
S. Jex-Blake.”
Here is an interesting letter to an old friend whose husband’s distinguished career separated her for the time from a dearly-loved daughter:
“I much enjoyed seeing her for the flying visit which was all she vouchsafed me, and I am delighted to see how very much she is improved,—very much more healthy in mind and body all round....
She amused me much by plunging headlong into some theological difficulties,—which reminded me of how she (aged 6!) used to harass you about the Trinity. Her great trouble seems to be that she can’t feel sure the world is governed by a beneficent and omnipotent God,—she thinks there is so much pain in it which wouldn’t be allowed unless God either didn’t wish to help it, or couldn’t help it. That has never been my difficulty,—I have always had such a devout belief in the possible blessing of pain,—
‘Because all noblest things are born
In agony.’
Do you remember Miss Cobbe’s hymn?