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But both Mr. Severn and Mr. W. had most kindly given me gentle warnings that all those who came into intimate relations with the Professor, since his sad illnesses, must prepare themselves for sudden inexplicable fluctuations in his favor toward them, and for startling rebuffs at times, and they had begged me not to take these things too much to heart when my turn should come.

The sequel proved the wisdom and kindness of their advice. The next letter from him, received at Kate's only two or three days after these perfect evenings, came on me like a clap of thunder out of a clear blue sky, and nearly broke my heart in spite of their friendly warnings. Of course the fact that the main accusation it contained was wholly without foundation ought to have told me that the overtasked brain was once more on the point of breaking down, and had I known him better I should have realized this and been less overcome with grief and shame.

I have hesitated long before transcribing this letter, but without it much that follows would be meaningless. So I have decided to give it, heavy as is the blow to my pride, and that after forty years!

The Frederic (Ulric)' mentioned in it was a German story of Swiss peasant life which he had asked me to translate for Fors.

DEAR JESSIE,—

BRANTWOOD, Monday.

I send you the paper and the Frederic, and I hope you will have had some pleasure in the hills to-day. I was surprised to see, when you were here, how little you had really understood that I wanted you to come to SEE the hills and Brantwood and me but not at all to talk! You had not, I found, the least idea how much as a rule I dislike talking-how necessary it is for me that my friends should be able to amuse themselves without me. Think - for instance - in going over the lake yesterday the lake yesterday when my proper state would have been merely to watch the thunder-clouds and the wide waters - and let my thoughts go where they chose what a sudden crash into the brain it is to be asked such a question as 'whether I would tell children how much I believed the Bible!'

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talking with the Master before lunch the conversation turned on the Bible, and I told him that the father of my two pupils had requested me not to enter with them on the question of Bible Inspiration. 'Let them read and study the Bible as they do any other book, without prejudice. I wish their minds left free from any bias on the matter, so that when they are of an age to use their own judgment they may do so untrammeled by any inculcated dogmas.'

Very likely I may have asked Mr. Ruskin how far he agreed with this attitude, but if I did so it was in a quiet Sunday-morning talk by the study fire, not in the middle of the lake!

He rowed me about for some time that afternoon in his own particular boat, the Lily of Brantwood, and the talk turned mainly on the difference in color between the Highland lochs and streams, with their cairngorm hues, and the colder gray slate color of the Cumberland waters.

And as to my resenting not being allowed to go to Brantwood except when summoned - well, I should just as soon have thought of resenting not being allowed to present myself at Buckingham Palace whenever I liked.

But I did not dare to attempt any denial or justification. I just wrote the humblest and most contrite letter of apology that I could compass, begging him to forgive my thoughtless chattering on the ground of the wild excitement and joy into which the wonderful visit had thrown me. I told him I knew I had not been myself all the time, but had felt as if I were living in Fairyland. Next day brought the reply, and the old signature told me that my apology had been accepted.

So I worked away diligently at the translation from the German with all my might. I sent him the first chapter

when ready, and his next note gave further proof of forgiveness.

MY DEAR JESSIE,

BRANTWOOD, CONISTON, Aug. 23rd, '81.

I knew quite well that you were not yourself and allowed for that; only I wanted you, even out of yourself, to feel more distinctly the reasons which prevented me from being all that I could have been to you. I could easily have put you into heart and comfort by taking up anything with you seriously that interested us both but the late summer is just the time of all the year when I am most languid - and wholly dependent on open air and play. When you come at Christmas I shall D.V. be actively busy with the hoarfrost and icicles, and you will share the interest and be at ease.

You shall come before it comes to good-bye - and then I'll come to say good-bye.

Meantime think only of your Carlyle and Ulric.

Ever your loving

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J. R.

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The Ulric seems excellently done and the quantity and the quantity - marvellous - you will find, to do it as well as you can do it - it must be slower!

If I order the carriage for you at Kate's at -past six, can you come and dine to-day, and hear some reading in the evening, and the carriage shall be put up here and take you home at -past ten?

Ever affectly yours

J. R.

The time of my departure from Coniston was now close at hand, for although Mr. Ruskin, in spite of my

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About six o'clock I saw him come up the garden path accompanied by Sylphide, whom he promptly sent to the kitchen to chat with Kate. He came into my little parlor and sat down by the fire for the evenings were chilly, though it was August. He sat in the same low rocking-chair as on his memorable first visit, and leaned back, looking very tired.

And then for nearly an hour he talked as only he could talk - mainly about myself, my prospects, the conditions and conduct of my life, and all so kindly, tenderly, and sympathetically that the very words seem graven on my heart. I am thankful that I wrote down much of what he said in my journal that night, for I would not willingly forget any of it. Very strongly he impressed on me that the chief part of all true happiness for all noble people lay in their power of giving

sympathy, not in any sympathy they ever received themselves.

'For myself,' he went on, 'you know my life now, and you know that for me all possibility of personal joy is over forever. And yet I am able to find the truest and deepest happiness in seeing those around me happy. Just before I started to come here this afternoon I went to the Lodge to see Joan presiding over the nursery tea table. It is the baby's birthday, and Joanie and all of them looked so happy and peaceful and merry together that my heart was filled with the most exquisite pleasure in looking at them, and in knowing that to some extent they owed their happiness to me. Try to look at life in the same way. If you are denied great joys of your own, make joys for yourself by adding to the happiness of others. And then -you are still young-it is not likely that your life will always be what it is now. All sorts of possibilities lie before you. Have faith in the future. But make the present happy while waiting. I myself will do all in my power to give you happiness. I hope you will often be here with us again. And I shall send you whatever I write, and if you want books at any time you have only to write and tell me, and I will either lend or give them to you. Are there any you want now? Have you Wordsworth?'

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I showed him a miniature copy in two volumes which I had brought with me. He examined it, and said it would do very nicely for me. As he gave it back, he took my hand and held it for a minute in a kind, fatherly way, while he talked on about books. Seeing how near I was to tears at the parting, he smiled. 'Whatever girls can find to like in a cross old man like me I can never understand!' Then he added more seriously, 'It certainly has been one of the greatest happinesses of my

life that so many good women have found in me something to like, and I hope I am as thankful for it as I ought to be.'

Trying to cheer me, he spoke several times about the promised Christmas visit, and how quickly the time would pass until I saw them all again. Almost his last words were 'Remember, Jessie, you are promised to me for the whole of the Christmas holidays! Don't go making any other arrangements!'

I tried to stammer out poor thanks for all his goodness to me, but he hurried off in the midst of my blundering attempt. At the door of the room he turned round to say, rather sadly:

'I wish I could have given you more pleasure, my dear, but I am a poor old dry stick now! Good-bye!'

And he closed the door gently and went to seek Sylphide in the kitchen. A minute later I saw him walk down the path with her and all was

over.

Soon afterward Kate Raven came into the room to find me broken down in a storm of weeping which I could no longer repress.

'Oh, ma'am, what is the matter?' she exclaimed.

'I have said good-bye to the Master,' I gasped out between sobs, 'and I shall never see him again!'

'Oh, don't say that, ma'am! He's just been telling me that you will be with us again for Christmas!'

'No, Kate. He thinks so, but I know that I have heard him talk for the last time. Something tells me so, and I know that the warning is a true one.'

Nothing she could urge could shake the woeful premonition - a true one, as events proved.

BRANTWOOD, CONISTON,
Sept. 1, 1881.

MY DEAR LITTLE JESSIE,

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I feel every word you say about my kindness as in reality a reproach for indeed I was very unkind to youonly I thought myself really treating you with more honour by showing you exactly what I was, and how you could

and how you could not help me than if I had set myself to make you as happy as I could. You will not find that any sylph can make me forget you and I trust that your next visit will be every way pleasanter to you. Meantime I shall have little work to give you, because I am bound to take as little as I can for myself- but I am sure of your power and will- and shall send you many a proof when they are coming again here.

We all send you true and loving remembrances. Joan has a charming baby present to thank you for, but lets me do it to-day, for she's going to the sea with the children and has more to do than she is able for. Forgive the shortness of mine - it is not coldness - and believe me ever

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Alas! The brain excitement of which I had had a warning during my Brantwood visit returned in the course of the autumn, and for some long time after this letters were few and far between and not always pleasant to receive when they did come. I wrote seldom and very cautiously, but even SO did not always escape sharp rebuke.

But I can honestly say that never for a single hour did the writer cease to be to me the honored Master, who

Three days later I received the fol- had wrecked his own health in the life

lowing letter:

VOL. 189-NO. 1

long struggle to warn and uplift his

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Mr. Lovejoy was a widely known Reading bookseller and librarian — an intimate friend of Miss Mitford's (author of Our Village). He was quite a ‘character,' and one of his eccentricities took the form of refusing all payment for the loan from his circulating library of any books by Mr. Ruskin, of whom he was a devoted disciple. He said their value was so great that no money payment would be adequate. There were no cheap editions of Ruskin in those days, and many of the volumes were first editions, whose money value no one knew better than Mr. Lovejoy. But no matter - they were lent for love' just the same. I ventured to suggest to the Master that a few lines of acknowledgment from him would give his old disciple intense pleasure, and he immediately wrote him a charming letter. And the dear old man's joy and pride in its possession were delightful to witness.

During the course of this summer, against my better judgment, I was overpersuaded into accepting an offer of marriage from a man of my own age for whom I felt the highest respect and esteem, but not the same strong affection which he undoubtedly entertained

for me. He, however, urged so strongly that love would certainly follow the intimacy of an open engagement that I weakly yielded, but with the proviso that no blame should attach to me if, after some months of probation, I should withdraw from the engagement.

In writing to tell Mr. Ruskin of this arrangement I confessed that I was not 'in love' with my suitor, but was attracted by the prospect of a happy home with a good man who loved me sincerely and strongly, and whom I knew to be of high principles and sterling worth.

Three plans for our future life were laid before me, and the choice was to be left to me either for him to continue his present employment of farming land in Yorkshire, or for him to take up a partnership in a cutlery firm in Sheffield, or for us to try our fortune in Australia or New Zealand. I asked the Master's advice in the matter, and here is his reply.

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