Remember me at my ordination as priest, please. Remember me, for I need it so much, you do not know how much. It is such an important time, and I cannot understand or enter into its significance, as I long to do. Discipline, discipline, discipline, {86} self-discipline--obedience to 'orders.' Oh! how I long to have the power to realise these! Pray for me that I may; that you may, pray also. Be very strict with yourself. Compel yourself to obey rules. You are hurting so many besides yourself when you are not strict with yourself. For we are 'one body.' You are injuring those whom you like best, for you have less power over them, when you have less power over yourself--less power to influence, to pray, to thank for them. Do remember how marvellously sacred a schoolmaster's work is: it is not enough to be able to play games--how I sometimes wish I could!--it is not enough to be able to teach Latin and Greek: a schoolmaster should be so much more. He represents the authority of God. He can be _so_ much, he may be _so_ little to boys. We can never enter into a boy's life, into his deepest thoughts, his 'long, long thoughts,' unless we too become little children, unless we become young and fresh and simple--and all young life comes from Him, who makes all the little children who ever come into this big world. Let us enter into His life. Do not become a schoolmaster simply to fill up time, to have something to do. _To W. A. B._ Christ's College, Cambridge: November 20, 1902. . . . I am glad that you like your school, that you like your boys. . . . Think of the weak chaps, those who are 'out of the way,' those who are not naturally {87} attractive, those who positively repel you. They often most need your sympathy, your prayers. And now about your ordination. Do you know I am doubtful whether it would be a good thing for you to be ordained to a school chaplaincy. I am almost more than doubtful. You would, I suppose, have no parish work, nor anything to do with poor folk. Your work would be reading prayers, and preaching about three times a year, I suppose. You would scarcely care to be a curate in a country or poor town parish later on, would you, if you began thus? But, after all, I must not, I dare not, advise you. I can only point you to the Being who alone can advise us. The great thing is to renounce all plans, all thoughts of self, to give up all we are and expect to be, to come into His presence, and then to ask His advice. Or rather we must come to Him like little helpless children and ask Him to _help_ us to renounce planning and arranging with _self_ as goal--to beg Him to give us strength to give up all.