She had a well-balanced brain, an extremely desirable possession in an educationalist. Whether she would have done superlatively good work in one subject, had she specialised, it is impossible to say, but she certainly did extremely good work in many subjects--History, Mathematics, Philosophy, Languages--to mention only a few. Such all-round capacity is very valuable in a Head Mistress, as it enables her to judge fairly the teaching that is being given in almost every subject. Intellectually she was abnormally active: rest was to her an impossibility, and up to the end of her life she kept this marvellous mental energy. The amount of work she was able to do was prodigious: her administrative duties, her teaching, her literary essays--she wrote a considerable amount--her vast correspondence, implied a mass of work that few people could get through. Her great powers made it rather difficult for her to understand people of limited capacity, though she tried to do so. Dorothea Beale was a great organiser. Teachers who went to the Ladies’ College from other schools were amazed at the perfect organisation, and were greatly impressed by the way in which Dorothea Beale kept in touch with everything. She was like a centre to which were attached invisible wires from every girl and every teacher. One of her leading ideas was to work through her staff. She knew she could accomplish infinitely more with their sympathy and help than by trying to do things herself. A piece of advice she frequently offered to her teachers was to get others to do anything they could, so as to leave their own energies for the essential part of their work, the part that no one else could do. The doctrine of conservation of energy she preached much to her staff. She dreaded for them the exhausting effect of even too much enthusiasm. Holidays, she said, were to be used for the refreshment of body, mind, and soul: and she advised them to avoid anything that might impair their health. Her humour was subtle and not always understood. She frequently said most humorous things with a perfectly grave face, so that people who did not understand her often quoted her jokes to prove her lack of humour. One day she said to the girls that she believed her friend, Mr. X., always made a plan of learning poetry while he shaved, and she commended it to them as a practice they should all immediately follow! As life went on, I believe, Dorothea Beale became rather unpractical in personal matters, and when she had to do things for herself did them with difficulty. Happily she usually had some one to look after her. “I had a great deal of talk with her,” wrote one of her Old Girls, “at one of the Head Mistresses’ Conferences, and I remember her giving me such an amusing account of her attempts to blow up an air-cushion for herself, that we both laughed until the tears ran down our faces.”