‘Then, had you not, even as you admit, condemned utterly those whose conduct admitted of a more favourable interpretation? We are not utterly truthful, unless we do more than act up to our convictions, unless we do our utmost to make those convictions as near the truth as we are able. And do you know I felt so disappointed after talking to you the other day, because it seemed to me as if you had not cared to search into the depths of things, as if you were content to float about instead of searching for the rock beneath the flood. Our apprehension of the truth regarding the goodness of God, and His purpose for us, and our duty to our Father and to one another, seems to me the priceless pearl. I found you had not read what I thought you would have read, the works in which the ages have indeed drawn for us pictures of those who wrestled with God in the darkness and cried—“Tell me Thy Name.” And now you disappoint me again, as some other of my dear Agnostic friends. They seem wanting in the tenderness of those who ever look up to Jesus Christ, and therefore learn to feel in the light of His example. This our miserable failure, the habitual self-examination and definite confession of sin, helps us to. There, I have told you what is in my heart. The former on thinking over our conversation I meant to say, because I love you. The latter, (the want of sympathy,) I did not know of. I wonder if you will misunderstand me now,—perhaps,—but I have felt you did not before.’ The following was written to a former student, who after a time of great religious privilege had been assailed by special temptation:— ‘_August 1888._ ‘MY DEAR FRIEND,—I am grieved that you have suffered so much, and yet it was not sent you in vain. It was to correct faults in yourself, and to help you in your vocation to correct those in others. You did not, I feel sure, yield to the wrong, but fought against it, and temptation is not sin. ‘I have been thinking what you could read. Do you know Froebel’s own works? I think some of these (which are not light reading) would be nice for you on your travels. I like always a book that is suitable for a little reading and much thinking. He is so bathed in the spirit of love, so deeply Christian and so full of the spirit of liberty. When you come home you must come and pay us a visit,—that and Rosmini I should like you to read. I have asked Miss Gore to send you one of my photos, in case you care to have it, when we go home.—With deep sympathy, yours most sincerely, D. BEALE.’ Among the letters are many to old pupils on the deaths of relations or friends. The next was written to Miss Alice Owen, now Mrs. Mark Collet, on the anniversary of her mother’s death:—