Weakness is not in your word,
Weariness not on your brow.’
A true history of the Cheltenham Ladies’ College would not be merely a faithful record of dated events, of building, enlargement, expansion, of the introduction of examinations, of distinctions gained; it must also suggest, if only in outline, the working of the spirit which informed the whole, that by which it grew and became, in spite of its size and the different elements it embraced, homogeneous in itself and full of force.
Photo. G. H. Martyn & Sons.
Ladies’ College and Garden 1908.
That she was but one worker among many, that she was only part of an ‘order’ which must be temporary, were facts ever before Miss Beale’s eyes. Those who remember their school-days at Cheltenham with love and gratitude4 think not only of the Principal, but of many others, some of whom passed out of sight before her, some of whom are still faithfully carrying out the ideas she inspired, but whose influence, like her own, left an abiding6 impression. One spirit, one aim, an equal strenuous7 effort were what she strove before all things to gain for her fellow-labourers, and did undoubtedly8 to a marvellous extent produce throughout the College. Though Miss Beale did occasionally make mistakes in her choice of workers, expecting too much, or perhaps taking too much for granted, this was very rarely the[255] case where class-teachers were concerned. These, who had the responsibility of forming character as well as of giving instruction, were always teachers whom she thoroughly9 knew and trusted, and had generally trained herself. By these, the thought and inspiration of the Head were handed on. But beyond this, all who passed through the College, even if they did not have the opportunity of knowing Miss Beale personally, came in contact with her in one way or another. Even the youngest heard her Scripture11 lessons; all the pupils in Division I. had their marks read by her, and thus came individually before her. Those who were confirmed while at school were brought into closer touch with her, and many through some incident in their school career, or through peculiar12 circumstances of home life, learned to know her as a friend. The highest class in College, and the pupils who were hopefully named B.A.’s, saw a good deal of her even to the end. And from first to last in her long headship, it was possible for any child, big or little, in any part of the College, to know the Principal,—by herself taking notice of her. Miss Beale’s fastidious honesty, which led her to dread13 even the least appearance of stealing hearts away from home, largely held her back from making personal friends among the girls still at College. ‘Yearned to be loved,’ she wrote once in her diary; but consistently brought to her work a special gift of self-sacrifice in never seeking affection for herself personally. She had, moreover, a horror of the unhealthy attachments14 which are often a source of danger in girls’ schools. In this connection may be read one of her many letters to Miss Clara Arnold:[67]—
‘Yes, you are right, that does point to a fatal error. If we make our children lean on us (broken reeds), they will not stand long. If they make an idol16 of any human being, when the idol[256] is broken their faith goes too. We must try to bid them fly upwards17 into the sunlight; they must not tumble about on the ground like those poor birds whose wings are clipped. They must look up, not to us, but with us, to our common Lord. What miserable18, weak, sickly creatures many women are, who must always have a Pope. The children should give you respect and esteem19, and you can give them sympathy and affection too, and as they are children they may have a helping20 hand, but make them give up, if possible, sentimental21 worship. They must not do right for love of you, but because it is right.
‘How fight against this? Well, tell the children some of these things, and talk it over with Miss —— and the other teachers. There must be harmony of action. I speak strongly, because I have seen this spirit eat away the higher life of one large school. I have such a dread of its getting in here.
‘I know there must be a certain amount of hero-worship in the young. They need help from parents and teacher, but we must train them out of dependence22. This sort of thing, too, leads to injustice23 to those who are not worshipped. They are “puffed up for one, against another.” They waste time and strength in day-dreams about their idol. When a little older they are always fancying themselves in love, because they have got used to an excitement of feeling.
‘I feel inclined to say I wish I could help you more; always ask me if you think I can. But I advise you chiefly to make this a subject of prayer. I say daily that Collect for Whitsunday, about a “right judgment24 in all things.” Then I think I should see where the evil is most apparent, not speak to the whole class but to some few. Very likely, if you try to prevent this wrong worship, you will create an antagonism26 which will give you much trouble; such affection easily turns to hatred27.... This sort of thing does make homes so unhappy because the wife takes “tiffs.” Try earnestly to brace3 them, my dear child.’
Miss Beale’s own shyness also stood in the way of her personal intimacy28 with her pupils. She liked to be met more than half-way. She liked the birthday-book brought to her to sign,[68] the rare wild-flower found[257] and gathered for her, the little note of sympathy or inquiry29 or thanks. A hundred reasons would keep most girls back from taking the simple steps which would have led them early to find a friend in Miss Beale. While they were reverencing30 in silence and at a distance there would come along some bright thing of quick perception, accustomed to society and to be welcome everywhere, untroubled by self-consciousness, who would approach the throne with no ‘unaccustomed awe31,’ but stand, and chat, and smile, and be obviously acceptable to the lonely sovereign. ‘You know, A.,’ she said once to an old girl, ‘it was your freedom from shyness with me that first drew me to you.’ And, as a matter of fact, Miss Beale was really the most accessible of sovereigns. She longed to know all her children, and to help each personally. It was only a girl whose career was very short or wholly uneventful, and led in the lower classes of the school, who could remain wholly unacquainted with her. Even then, it would be found that the ten minutes’ individual talk which the Principal had with each as she left the College finally, impressed itself on the mind of the hearer. Her sympathies were ever most readily drawn33 out by those likely in after years to exercise influence—in some prominent, possibly Imperial position, or as teachers.
At all times a silent, strong, unconscious impression was produced upon most by Miss Beale’s rare absence from her post, her minute attention to her own share of the work of the College, her obvious self-devotion. ‘I can’t picture the College without her, she always seemed to be everywhere,’ one wrote after her death. Another said, ‘Although she might never speak to you, still the fact that she was not there on any day always made the College feel strange and empty.’
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Her memory for all who had passed through the College was simply extraordinary. A married pupil, visiting Cheltenham after many years’ interval34, writes of her amazement35 at finding that Miss Beale could tell her of every girl she had been with in class, and in many cases by whom she had sat, whom she had liked, and so on. Another, who was for two years at the College, only spoke36 twice to the Principal during that period, and left without the least idea that Miss Beale could know her as an individual. Two years after leaving the first great sorrow of her life came, in the death of her class-teacher, Miss Aitken. ‘That friendship,’ she writes, ‘had never degenerated37 into any foolish or selfish attachment15. I still count it as one of the strongest motives38 of my life.’ In the deep grief over her friend’s death came a letter from Miss Beale: ‘Just the fact that she remembered and understood was like a revelation. It was through that that I first realised the possibility of the individual love and care of God.’
Naturally, it was in the earliest days, when the first class was small and Miss Beale taught many subjects herself, that an intimate tie between the head and the pupil was most easily formed. But Miss Beale’s wonderful freshness of mind and heart enabled her to continue not only the old friendships so made, but yearly to make new ones. She had a wonderful way, too, of maintaining friendship. A girl might pass through the school knowing her but a little, but loyalty39 to College fostered by the Guild40 meetings would each year bring her into closer touch with the Principal. ‘I hope we may meet again,’ she wrote in 1876 to one who had had a deep love and reverence41 for her, but not much more than a slight acquaintance with her in College. Twenty years after, when events drew them together again, a close[259] mutual42 friendship which greatly brightened Miss Beale’s declining years grew out of the seed sown so long before.
Miss Beale herself held that the influence of the Principal on the school should be through the teachers. ‘She can do more with five hundred if she has a staff thoroughly in sympathy with her than if she brought direct personal influence to bear upon a school of a hundred. “If you want a thing done, do not do it yourself,” should be the motto of a ruler for everyday use. Act through others, educate them thereby43 to independence, and reserve your strength for things that none but a Head can do.’
In teaching, Miss Beale’s definite aim was to inspire. She sought but little to inform, but much to kindle44 a thirst for knowledge, a love of good and beautiful things, and to awaken45 thinking power. This she undoubtedly did, though the process was slow; working itself out quietly in the mind and character of those she taught, in nobler views of life, more refined appreciations47, improved sense of proportion. When there was a question of preparation for examination, or of the definite knowledge such as was required in mathematical subjects, it was necessary to supplement the lessons of the Principal. Yet her teaching of the exact sciences was hardly less illuminative48 than of those which make a more direct appeal to the imagination. She would interest the class in a mathematical problem, induce the mind to work, leave it at the end of a lesson impressed and roused, but at the same time not clear about the subject she had been putting before it. Then afterwards the explanation up to which she had been leading would often come like a flash to the puzzling brain.
Naturally the teaching of history was a great opportunity[260] to one who could so clothe her subject with life. In this she was more than merely picturesque49 and vivid, she would allow her own delighted interest to show itself. Who that heard them could forget her lectures on the reign32 of George the Third, in which she and her whole class were transported to the old Parliament House, listening, it might be, to the younger Pitt’s maiden50 speech, or to some stirring debate between him and his rival, hearing the applause, the dissentient murmurs51, even a joke under the breath of some listener? She would lead up to a climax52 with dramatic force. With what astonishment53 did her audience hear, as if it were a startling piece of political news of their own day, of the Coalition54 Ministry55![69]
The study of history has now become organised and scientific. Miss Beale’s own methods were out of date long before her death; she ceased indeed to teach the subject herself about 1874, but she never lost the enthusiasm with which she first entered upon it. As an example she was always anxious that those who were lecturing on history should adopt the views she considered just about certain personages. Once, when the Tudor period was being studied in the College, she summoned the teachers, as the school hours ended at one o’clock, into a classroom to hear what she believed to be the truth about Cranmer—with a few words making a terrible picture of time-serving and cowardice56. On the other hand, she was always anxious that what was great in Elizabeth should be recognised; that every possible excuse should be made for her faults.
But if Miss Beale’s methods of teaching history have been to some extent superseded57, it should be remembered[261] that she was among the first to insist on the importance of general history. Though assured of the value of detailed58 and special knowledge, she was not content to let one period stand alone unlinked with its context. She would not cut off the history of England as a thing by itself, but showed its place in the stream of time, in the lives of the nations. So almost every class was obliged to learn something of outline and general history, and here it was that the Chart and Textbook played so important a part.
Miss Beale’s English literature lessons may, more than any others she gave, be described as sui generis. ‘Miss Beale gives literature lessons of a peculiar kind,’ was the appreciation46 of a new pupil who had studied the subject before coming to Cheltenham. Her literature lesson, indeed, had many functions. The subject became the vehicle of much teaching that it was not convenient to give in a Bible lesson. She sought to interest her class in books, in reading, in noble thoughts, in fine prose and poetry. But this was by no means all. She sought primarily to give views of life, conduct, and character such as would enable her hearers to go from school into a larger world, already prepared to know what to find. Under the names of friend and friendship much was said which might apply equally to the choice of a husband and to marriage. Knowledge of character, she would often say, is so important for women. Hence she liked, if possible, once a year to read and lecture upon one of Shakspere’s great plays to the first class. Though ever fresh and interesting, and herself as interested as ever in these readings, though the lectures were constantly brightened and enriched by new books and thoughts brought to bear upon them, there was very little variation in the treatment of the main theme. At[262] certain crises in the story, over certain characters, hearers of long standing59 knew what to expect. Ophelia, to take an instance, was for all the generations of girls who read Hamlet at Cheltenham the woman who failed a man because she could not dare to be true. A matter like this was vital to Miss Beale. Could any class-teacher in the College have represented Ophelia in any other light, the Lady Principal would have spared no pains to point out the error of the treatment, both to her and to those she had misled. Desdemona, again, was always marked as the wife who not unnaturally60 roused the suspicions of a jealous-minded husband, because he knew that in marrying him she had deceived her father. The misery62 that may follow a secret wilful63 marriage was always hinted at when this story was told.
But there were other and less weighty considerations than influence and marriage in these lectures. They supplied opportunity for suggestions on simple affairs such as the choice of books, ways of spending time and money, manners, conversation, and the like. Often questions of the day, politics in a very general sense, and social problems were led up to.
Miss Beale might be unacademic to a fault in these lectures, but she had that power of inspiration which made every poem she prized, every character she admired, live immortally64 for those who heard her speak of them. The actual reading—specially65 of poetry—was a delight to both reader and hearers. Miss Beale had a strong dramatic instinct, a keen enjoyment66 of poetry and the right use of words. She had also a wonderful voice, which she managed well, and though always quiet and restrained in manner carried her audience with her unweariedly. The literature lesson was long, specially in the early days when, owing to[263] short distances and small numbers, no time was occupied by arrangements for prayers. For thirty or forty minutes corrected notes were returned and criticised, then the lecture proper would begin and go on for a full hour. Sometimes the whole time, an hour and a half, was taken up by the lecture. It was certainly very unusual for any one to find it too long.
A further interest in these lectures lay in an effort to make them language lessons. As a matter of fact, though much interested in language herself, Miss Beale did little more than inspire a wish to study it further. Perhaps this was her aim in touching67 upon it at all. She would often bring to her lesson a table of Grimm’s Law, explain it very rapidly, and appear to expect that it should be as rapidly remembered.
Miss Beale’s literature was by no means confined to Shakspere’s plays. All the greatest and many lesser68 works in the English tongue were taken in their turn. But she would seldom take the works of any whose thought seemed to her inferior; would have little, for instance, to do with Dryden and Pope. Style in itself had no attraction, and the growth of literary form, unless accompanied by the development of noble thought, was of little interest. No subject, perhaps, was more after her own choice than the poems of Spenser. She would dwell with unfailing delight on the complicated allegories of the Fa?ry Queene, or on the Hymns69 to ‘Heavenly Love’ and ‘Heavenly Beauty.’ Nor was a school year ever allowed to pass without her introducing the higher classes in the College to some of Browning’s works. How many must have learned to know his greater short poems by hearing her read them.[70]
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But the subject with which the name of Dorothea Beale as a teacher will ever be associated is that of Holy Scripture. For this her greatest force was reserved. This was the soul of her work, as any who listened to her lessons with a hearing ear, or who marked the deep reverence prevailing70 in her class, could not fail to observe. Trammelled she was in many ways, at first by the narrowness which had almost prevented her coming to Cheltenham; increasingly, as time went on, by the numbers of her hearers who held opposing views on religion or who had no views at all; much always by her own dread of ‘offending’ or of hindering an earnest seeker for truth by a positive assertion. These causes made it inevitable71 that her teaching should seem to many vague or insufficient72, since she could not bear to miss putting herself beside those who were as babes, unable to venture a step into the untried. An old pupil has well described this attitude:—
‘She did not go very much into every sort of detail, but I wonder what use can be made of doctrinal details by people whose general scheme of things is one into which they don’t fit? and that, I suppose, is the trouble of most people who are puzzled by such things at all. Whereas Miss Beale, in anticipation73 of this difficulty, always seemed to me to set forth74 a spiritual construction of the universe, into which no spiritual truth learned afterwards could possibly fail to fit, supposing it to be a truth in very deed. I do not see how any teacher can possibly do a greater work; though I do not say for a moment that she did no more.’
Certainly in the weekly lesson to the whole First Division of the school she did a great deal more. Another old pupil may be quoted here:—
‘Speaking for myself, I can say without hesitation75 that it was from her that I learned the truth of the sacramental life. One thing she said to me, and she repeated it with emphasis at the time of my Confirmation76, is as fresh in my mind to-day as the[265] day she said it. Again, I can say for myself, and my reading has been fairly wide, that her influence has been entirely77 against any weakening of faith. Knowing something at least of her character and intellectual power, it was natural to feel that where she was steadfast78 one need not be afraid. More than that, her direct teaching by its sympathetic insight into the deepest aspects of life was always, and always will be inspiring. If it is true that there was something vague in her utterances79, I believe it was because she had reached a plane of thought where the words which have become the current thought of everyday life are inadequate80 forms of expression.’
If, in order to seek some erring81 spirit, Miss Beale did at times seem to neglect others, it must be remembered that in teaching the Bible, more than at any other time, she really took up the humble82 position of simply bringing her hearers to think and listen for themselves. This was the intention which lay below the reverent83 behaviour exacted from a Scripture class. By means of this she strove to impress the importance to the hearer of being still, ready, attentive84, free from selfish or idle thought. She prepared not only the lesson, but also herself to give it, with a devotion and self-denial which she never allowed to become relaxed by pressing business, age, or infirmity.
Not only was Friday evening strictly85 kept for the final preparation of the lesson, but the ordinary details of school business attended to before prayers were put aside on the day it was given. No one in the College would have thought on those days of speaking to Miss Beale beforehand except on some urgent matter. Writing to a young teacher in 1880, she said: ‘I used to prepare my lessons on my knees, (don’t say this to others). You would find it a help, I think, to do this sometimes.’
This earnestness and diligence were shared by many of the class-teachers. In a short account of Miss Belcher, which appeared in the College Magazine of 1898, Miss[266] Beale said: ‘Only those who knew her intimately were aware of the long study and extreme pains she took with her Scripture lessons. Every Friday at Cheltenham we used to meet and go over the Saturday lesson together.’
The annual midsummer examination was no mere2 test of knowledge gained, but, like the weekly notes, a real exercise of thought. In this matter Miss Beale received the full sympathy and co-operation of the Rev25. E. Worsley, who for many years examined the upper classes of the College in Scripture.[71]
The subject of Miss Beale’s Scripture lessons was generally a Gospel or an Epistle. Occasionally she would take the book of Genesis, from which she would draw much instruction on Sin, Freewill, Faith. Perhaps her favourite subject was the Gospel of St. John. Remembering the Saturday class, the awe with which she would speak of the Logos, or with passionate86 devotion follow the sublime87 teaching of the later chapters of that book, the glowing ardour with which she would heap up fact and proof concerning the Resurrection, occur at once to the memory.
Letters to old pupils who had become teachers in other schools show Miss Beale’s reasons for dwelling88 on certain points. To Miss Wolseley Lewis, head-mistress of the Graham Street Church High School, she wrote in 1897 concerning 1 Cor. vii.:—
‘Yes—I have taken it. There is no need to insist on every word. In reading one’s Bible some things are not suitable for[267] children, but the teaching of those chapters regarding the sacredness of the body is extremely valuable. Robertson on Corinthians is very helpful.
‘I will see if I can find my notes, they would be useful to you; but you need not be afraid to take it, you will like it.’
And again in January 1898 on the same subject:—
‘I have looked in vain for my notes on Corinthians. I think Robertson will give you much useful help in working out the more difficult chapters. It is very important with elder girls not to leave out the teaching which comes naturally out of the Epistle, on the sacredness of marriage, and the responsibility of choice,—on the certain promises that if we ask guidance it will be given. The example of Abraham in choosing a wife for his son may be cited,—the necessity of waiting for guidance,—praying for light until it comes, when we are called on to decide the most important question of our whole lives. One may insist on the duty of being so equipped that we can earn our own living, and not be tempted89 into the disgrace of a mercenary marriage. One may just touch upon the detestable teaching of some modern works, that our affections and acts are beyond our control. I feel sure you will find you can do much to help girls thus.’
To Miss Arnold at Truro she wrote:—
‘As regards Acts: I should say not; because one is so much drawn aside to history and geography; but one may work in Epistles, etc., if there is an examination required. I made up my mind I would not take it again.’
And again, in 1891, on the use of Scripture teaching:—
‘I think what we should do is to make it come home to the children in their daily life as a clergyman hardly can. We know their faults and temptations. I often take the baptismal vow90. I really can’t find time to write much, and it is so impossible to suggest much. I am sure you will find things easier when you begin.’
The immense detail of the teaching, following as it did the innumerable suggestions that one text might give, was sometimes confusing to a new class. A term’s lessons might be occupied with a few verses only. Then[268] there is no doubt that Miss Beale’s large way of thinking and comprehensive form of expression was difficult to follow. This did not lessen91 with age. New pupils, particularly of late years, were often filled with despair at the prospect92 of having to write out the lessons. Many felt the Sunday work it involved to be a strain. This was less the case at first, when perhaps intellectual interests had more undisputed sway. The life in College, as in other spheres, has become more full and offers fewer spaces for uninterrupted thought. Sometimes a whisper that her Scripture lessons were too difficult reached the Lady Principal. It grieved her, but she never quite believed it. She wrote of it to Miss Arnold:—
‘I like you to tell me what is said, but then I do not like to know more.... There are others much older to whom I address myself, and I see they do enter more and more as the year goes on, and I am teaching more now for the future. I do think I fortify93 some more for the trials of their future life than I did when you were here. Those who cannot follow, ought to be put into a class where the teaching is less difficult. They do not say this, I hope, about my Monday lessons, only the Saturday....’
The patient correction and explanation of the pupils’ essays on the lessons was not the least part of the Scripture work. How full, elaborate, and diligent94 this correction was will not readily be understood by any who do not know the Cheltenham system. But though Miss Beale wrote a great deal in the girls’ books, her corrections were often framed on the Socratic method so much prized by her. To take an example. A vague use of the word infinitely95 has written against it, ‘Do you mean from eternity96?’ ‘The universe,’ writes one pupil lightly, to have the word underlined and with ‘Meaning’ written above it. And she had a wonderful eye for thought[269] and effort. No writer, however poor, whose work showed signs of these was discouraged. One writes of this:—
‘I have one of my old Scripture books, and on looking it over, for the first time for many years, I am most struck by her power of seeing good in the very crude attempts of a girl of sixteen. It seems to me marvellous that she, with her great intellect, could have put herself on our level, so as to see when we had thought, and to encourage us with the “s” and “g” that we valued so highly. I am afraid I used to look out more for the “g’s” than for the comments and corrections that showed how much pains she took herself with each attempt of ours.’
A good deal of enthusiastic drudgery97 was needed for the corrector of twenty or thirty Scripture books every week. Even Miss Beale found it hard at times, and would write:—
‘Much idle time again. At 10 p.m. Thursday not touched a correction. Thus unfaithful while I am so much helped.’
And:—
‘Tired, but terribly negligent98. Put off books in a really unpardonable way, and felt irritable99 at work.’
In dealing100 with individual character, faults, and weakness Miss Beale showed no common tact10, and often surpassing astuteness101. To begin with, she was herself so well disciplined, so well attuned102 to the highest thought of work for others, that probably she did not even feel irritated by the errors and mistakes of her children. Certainly she never showed annoyance103. It is impossible even to think of her being satirical or sarcastic104 either in teaching or in dealing with faults of manner or character. She would have considered it unpardonable in an under-teacher to be so, almost as reprehensible105 as to treat or speak of a child as stupid. She had indeed a special love for ‘ugly ducklings,’ in whom she would frequently perceive and draw out a latent swanhood.
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Some things—such as what she termed the ‘petty larceny106 of her time’ by those who prolonged an interview by aimless small talk—did irritate her; but she would no more have been annoyed by the shortcomings of a child than a doctor would be at the illness of a patient. Though able to adapt herself spontaneously to individual characteristics, she had certain distinct lines along which she worked. Dealing with ordinary childish faults she would make no appeal on high religious grounds, used no set or stock phrases. Always, in big and little things, she would show the child some ground for expecting right action from her, pointing out something probably connected with her home which, a legitimate107 source of satisfaction, should be also a spur to do well. Or she would treat a rebellious108 act in such a way as to rob it of all its delight. An amusing instance of this was told by a writer in the Guardian109 of November 21, 1906: ‘On one occasion a very clever student, with an unruly temper, refused, because some one had annoyed her, to eat her breakfast on the day of an important examination. Her form mistress begged Miss Beale to persuade the girl to have at least some milk. She was sent to Miss Beale, and was greatly startled by—“I hear you are fasting to-day; for a temper like yours it is probably a wise discipline.” Nothing more was said, but the girl did not refuse her luncheon110.’ Such hom?opathic treatment was sometimes also applied111 to idleness, a rare fault in a schoolgirl. It was, in ancient days, occasionally known in the Third Division at Cheltenham. Quite rarely, in consequence, a little girl would be allowed to do nothing but sit still all the morning. No one had a chance of showing obstinacy112. It was a relief to more than one young teacher to be told that ‘You must never let a child have the satisfaction of holding out against[271] you.’ If such a thing did occur, there was no contest, no opposition113 of superior power on the part of a teacher; a few, very few words from the Lady Principal would make the child see the futility114 and silliness of her attitude.
A moral delinquency was, however, met with the very greatest seriousness. Parents were sometimes surprised at the extraordinary pains Miss Beale would take to obtain the confession115 of such a fault as copying a lesson. The slightest suspicion of dishonesty was always followed up at once, but the act was never brought home to the offender116 until there was positive proof. Then the way would be made easy for her, the lie prevented by something like this: ‘My child, I am sure you have too good a conscience to rest with such a thing as this upon it.’ Conviction and confession of a fault made it immediately possible to show how it came about, how it might be prevented in the future. Especially in the matter of untruthfulness Miss Beale would trace the outside fault to its source, showing it to be a symptom of some corrupting117 force within, cowardice, vanity, or idleness. In this connection it is well worth while to read her remarkable118 little paper on Truth.[72]
One tale of her discrimination may well be told. A class-teacher received some anonymous119 letters which she took to Miss Beale, naming the girl she took to be the writer. Some days passed. The teacher thought the matter forgotten, when one morning Miss Beale said to her, ‘Send —— to me. I can see by her face this morning that she will tell me all.’ Miss Beale was not disappointed either in the confession or its effects.
No one could reprove like Miss Beale. Her grief, her admonition were expressed not only with so much sympathy, but with such an absolute impersonal121 sense of[272] rightness and justice, that it was impossible to resent them. ‘Nothing is more touching,’ she wrote in 1898, ‘than the penitence122 of children, when they find that we have seen the good which is hidden, and not only the evil that comes forth; that we know, not only what is done, but what is resisted.’[73] Any who had so failed became a special care. ‘We try,’ she wrote once, ‘to make her feel there is no anger at all, but sympathy and an anxious watchfulness123 which will, we hope, make her more watchful124 over herself.’
To break the rule of silence was always regarded as a great fault. A careless pupil, conscious of breaking it only once or twice, would be surprised to find in her term’s report, ‘Disobedient to rule.’
A girl whose influence was seen to be a source of evil—a single act or conversation might be enough to prove it—was instantly removed. Careful as Miss Beale was to let no pupil go who might by any possibility be induced to stay, she never hesitated a moment in a case of this kind. The extreme seriousness with which she regarded this may be gathered from the following letter to a head-mistress:—
‘This is grievous. How is it that girls were allowed to go out by themselves? I wonder, too, that Miss —— did not see there was something wrong. No girls can act thus without some unnatural61 excitement. Then are there no prefects in the house? no elder girls to be relied on?—no confidential125 servant? I don’t see how you can keep any one of the three, but perhaps there are degrees of guilt126. It was so different at ——. A girl began to talk as she ought not—the younger girls told the seniors, the seniors came to ——; she told me, and within two hours the girl had left the house. There ought to be such confidence between the seniors and the head of the house, and constant vigilance over the girls’ characters and insight. I always feel that a school is at the mercy of one naughty girl, and we must[273] never relax our vigilance. It is sad to think that they have degraded women in the eyes of all that know it.’
Such instances are stated, not because it was continually the part of the Principal and her staff to deal with iniquity127. On the contrary, the order and conduct of the school were singularly good,—the sense of duty, fostered by a call to exercise it rather than by precept128, was unusually high. One means by which this was maintained was the constant collaboration129 of the parents. In all matters Miss Beale tried to take them with her, encouraged them to come to her, to talk over the children, spoke to the children about them, wrote to them on special matters, tried to get them to understand her aims. Her letters, too, show what pains she took to bring about a real co-operation. On one occasion no less than ten letters passed between Principal, parent, and class-teacher on so simple a matter as a child returning in the afternoon, according to a school rule, to do a lesson over again. Miss Beale won the child to see and do what was right, but she also wrote to the mother:—
‘I fear you have led your child to think there is a question to be settled now as to which is the supreme130 authority. Of course, if this is so, it is much to be deplored131; it is something like a conflict between father and mother before their child. We so earnestly wish that the home and school should be one in spirit. If this cannot be, it is best, as I have already said, that the child should be placed in another school.’
One letter to a parent on a matter of the same kind ended with this postscript132: ‘Sometimes we cannot, and sometimes we ought not, to keep a promise made under a wrong impression. Consider Herod’s case.’
Parents who did not send their children back on the right day, or who kept them at home for insufficient[274] reason, always heard from her. She would write thus:
‘Had I known how difficult it would be for —— to return, I should have advised her remaining here for her holiday’; or, ‘I know things are not considered so serious at a girls’ school as at a boys’ school, but no boy would be received back, I am sure, at one of our great public schools who had been absent without the leave of the Head-master.’
On the other hand, Miss Beale was always most anxious to support the authority and dignity of the parent. Once, when this seemed not to have been done by a teacher, she wrote: ‘She saw when I pointed120 it out how very wrong it was even to hint to a child that I thought her mother in the wrong.’ ‘She was never tired,’ ran a notice by an old pupil after her death, ‘of impressing upon the girls that home must come first in their affections. It was indeed pathetic to hear her speak, as she did almost weekly in her addresses to the assembled divisions, of the beauty of the relation of a child to its parents.’
It is impossible to do more than refer to the many letters which show the confidence and gratitude of the College parents, but, as an example, one from a father who held high official rank, on his daughter’s passing an examination in 1877, may be quoted, with its good wishes which were so entirely realised:—
‘Excuse my sending you one line of sincere thanks for your valuable (and inestimable, I may call it) friendship towards my dear daughter.
‘We were immensely pleased at her success, which we attribute entirely to the love of work instilled133 into her by your system at College generally, as well as by your personal influence. You not only obtain the respect and the devoted134 love and loyalty of your girls, but through them the admiration135 of their parents and all those who take an interest in their careers. I am sure few persons in the army of teachers are more highly[275] esteemed136 than yourself, few for whom more hearty137 prayers are offered for a long, long life of usefulness.
‘We feel so proud of our [girl’s] success. With every good wish for the health and prosperity both of yourself and your glorious College,’ etc.
Lastly and supremely139, it was through Miss Beale’s own personal influence upon her teachers, her clearly defined example always before them, that the spirit of the College came to be what it was. She had the gift of inspiration in that rare degree which makes actual direction of less value. She did not neglect details; she would indicate minor140 matters deserving of attention which others would overlook; she often quoted at a teachers’ meeting the example of the great general who, on taking over a command, first paid attention to the boots of his men. But it was never necessary for her to harp141 upon little things, or to go personally to see if her wishes had been carried out. One, who had had some years’ experience in teaching before she arrived at Cheltenham as a student, spoke with something like rapture142 of the College organisation143 as it appeared to her coming fresh from other places of education.
‘If I had a spare hour in the morning, it was useless to try and concentrate my thoughts on any study, I was simply fascinated by the superior attraction of watching Miss Beale’s government of her little kingdom. No monarch144 ever had more absolute sway over his subjects; all the threads responded to her lightest touch....
‘The College, as Miss Beale made it, was an organism, the product of inner forces needing constant renewal145 of vitality146, not a vast machine, working without friction147 for the production of clever women.
‘Then, for the first time, my soul conceived the possibility of a beneficent Spirit watching over the general good, and yet caring for the needs of the humblest individual. Thus she, who so loved to point out that outward things are sacramental exponents148 of the invisible, became herself a channel through which I realised things unseen.’
[276]
This influence was not gained through the more ordinary ways of intimacy. In one sense Miss Beale saw very little of her teachers, some, as the staff became very large, she hardly knew at all, though naturally with a few of the older ones she became more really intimate. There were also a few special instances of close friendship. Notably149 may be mentioned that of Miss Martha Brown, who came to Cheltenham about 1873, no longer young or strong. Her actual work in the College lasted but a short time, for her health soon failed altogether, though a keen mind, occupied and interested by a true love of knowledge and desire to impart it, kept her up for a year or so, until she was forced to resign herself to her last illness. For more than a year she remained in Miss Beale’s house, Miss Beale herself sometimes sharing with Miss Gore150 the task of nursing and caring for her in every way, holding it, indeed, a privilege to wait upon one whose spirit so soared above her circumstances,—she was poor as well as hopelessly ill,—one who, regarding the mysteries of science as a lesson-book given to man by God, did not weary in her study of them even when near the gates of death. Miss Brown is often mentioned in Miss Beale’s diary, and later her name occurs frequently among those who had passed beyond the veil, and whom Miss Beale specially loved to honour at a Guild meeting.
With regard to the greater number of the staff, though it is to be feared that her dislike of spending trifling151 sums of money stood in the way of even small hospitalities, this can have been but a secondary reason why she did not see more of them. It was a principle with her to spend time on recreation only so far as would help work; it was a principle to use the short interviews which alone were possible among large[277] numbers in the most economical way; finally, it was a principle that influence may be stronger and better for detachment from everyday occasions. To spend time on small talk would only fritter away good influence. Yet, in thinking of this, there must occur to the memory of some, at least, that she had a kind of dread of the word influence, as implying something personal, that she thought it dangerous to try to establish a sphere of influence, that she never consciously tried to acquire it. Once when a petition was put forward against the suffrage152 for women, Miss Beale, who declined to sign it, said that one reason urged upon her for doing so seemed so poor, namely, that the vote would impair153 the influence of women with men.
One aim, a common self-devotion in all was what she desired. To further it meetings of the staff were constantly held, when she would speak serious words which would burn themselves into the soul of many a young teacher. Her intense earnestness impressed, her tremendous claim was irresistible154. Nothing for self! all for those committed to your care,—your whole life arranged so as best to further your work! This was the claim she made, and to this she found response. Individually she helped much by a quiet word now and then, by a little unexpected note, sometimes by a long letter. One young teacher, who was apt to become excited in the enjoyment of her work, was surprised one morning to receive in the midst of it a little note, which, when deciphered, ran, ‘My dear child, try to work quietly. We must not let good feeling go off in steam.’ Those who were long at Cheltenham could tell of many such instances of watchful kindness; letters to those who left to work elsewhere are full of it. She had a wonderfully keen perception for reality of intention and[278] earnestness in work, and was quick to encourage any who showed these qualities. One who was long on the staff at Cheltenham has written thus of the help she received from the Principal when she first went:—
‘I often think of the days when I first began to teach, just a beginner. How Miss Beale encouraged and inspired one. I remember when she came in to one of my early geography lessons, an atrociously bad one, she spoke so kindly155 to me afterwards about it, and suggested that I should give up the subject for a time and study it before I taught it again. Later, she showed me a book with new ideas on the teaching of geography, and asked if I would try again. I did, and it became my special subject whilst I was at College, all through her kindly encouragement and help. She was always so delightfully156 sympathetic about one’s family and friends too, and she never forgot one’s home circumstances.’
When it was necessary to find fault or alter an arrangement Miss Beale never shrank from doing what she believed to be for the good of the whole, even at the cost of personal convenience. But she was always careful not to reprove except in such a way as to leave an absolute sense of justice. There was no sting in her rebuke157. And she could own herself wrong. She had no foolish fear about giving herself away. One member of the staff could tell of long and repeated application for an arrangement which she knew to be right, but which Miss Beale absolutely and bluntly refused. At last it was granted. Miss Beale herself came and stood patiently watching the removal of desks, etc., involved. It took at least an hour. When she had seen it finished, she said: ‘I see you were right in insisting on this.’ ‘She has given in, and I could die for her!’ exclaimed the teacher, as she reported the incident to another concerned in it.
It has often been said that the College teachers were overworked. It would be truer, perhaps, to state that too many chose to overwork, and that it was easy to[279] do so. Miss Beale, who taught, read, wrote so much, interviewed people, conducted any amount of College business, and yet found time to write upon Browning or the Fourth Dimension, was unable rightly to estimate how little a young woman of average intelligence can do. She had to learn it by actual experience of cases, and she tried to learn it. She was always anxious to readjust a burden, took infinite trouble to do so, but did not always realise the weakness of many a willing horse, or the want of common-sense, which will make people heap up tasks or work without plan. She never wanted to play herself, could not understand that any one should seriously wish to do so; she therefore regarded such a thing as the teachers’ tennis-ground as quite superfluous158.[74] Nor could she understand why any should wish to live out of sight of the place of their work. Even in the summer holidays she frequently chose the Sanatorium for a residence. Her own house was gradually absorbed by the College buildings, until it became almost as shut from the outer world as the women’s apartments in an oriental establishment, with no proper air and light of its own, only such as was derived159 from the surrounding corridors of the beloved College. Miss Beale preferred it should be so. Yet this attitude was but the defect of the great qualities by which she was enabled to make a complete self-surrender, and to call upon others to do the same ‘for the work’s sake.’ The only teachers who really felt ill-used or misunderstood, and who perhaps had some genuine ground for their complaint, were those who were unwilling160 to take trouble over fresh methods and subjects, or who were unable to rise to the high standard put before them, innocently thinking that the profession of a school-mistress[280] was just an interesting occupation, or a means of earning a livelihood161. Yet the practical side had its place. It was to Miss Beale’s foresight162 and initiative that the Pension Fund was in the first instance due.
Miss Beale’s letters to Miss Clara Arnold, with whom she had a close correspondence from the time Miss Arnold left the College to become a teacher until her death in March 1906, show at once her ideal, and her close individual care for her own child. Some of the most interesting are quoted here:—
‘May God bless you and prosper138 your work. You look to me too eager,—will you understand my word? Try to feel more what I was saying to-day, that work is not ours but God’s, and so we may look up peacefully, trustingly, committing our work to Him. If we try to serve Him in sincerity163, He will perfect that which is lacking. Are not those chapters in Ezekiel comforting, when we feel our shortcomings, and that we sometimes lead children wrongly? Because the shepherds made them to err—“I myself will be their shepherd.”’
‘June 1881.
‘I wish I could help you, my dear child. I have copied out for you parts of an address given to teachers some years ago by Mr. Body.[75] I took notes of it and send some to you. You must not let your spiritual life die down, you must get oil to burn in the lamp of your being: that spirit of grace and life and light of the soul. Such times of dryness do seem to be sent at times to try our faith; whether we serve God for His gifts and the joys of religion, but often they are the result of disobedience to the Voice of the Spirit. “Because I called and ye refused,” etc. Some unfaithfulness to what we knew to be right, some self-indulgent ways, some sloth165. Sometimes there is a sin unknown, and God would make us search it out; sometimes hidden like Achan’s piece of gold, it causes us to turn our backs on our enemies. We have to find out and acknowledge the sin.
‘I don’t understand about your Sundays. I find I need so much that quiet day. I think you should resist making it a social day, as friends expect,—have a good portion alone for prayer[281] and study—for the study of rather deep books. “Build yourselves up, beloved, in your most holy faith.” Take portions of the Bible and work them out with good commentaries, above all with prayerful study.
‘Do you intercede166 enough? If our prayers become selfish they lose life. Remember the cruse of oil.
‘I wonder if you could sometimes go to St. Peter’s, Eaton Square, to a Bible class, which Mr. Wilkinson holds generally once a fortnight on Fridays after afternoon service. I should like you to see him; but I care for his teaching on Sundays less than on week-days. It is a fashionable congregation and the church crowded, still I wish you would go, because he seems to feel the presence of a living God more than almost any one I have heard.
‘Do you go to Church now or to the Brethren’s services? To me the Church services and seasons, and especially the silent half-hour while others are communicating, is full of teaching. “I will come to them and make them to sit down to meat and will serve them.” Do you know the “Imitation”? If not, let me send you a copy. Perhaps God speaks to you better in other ways.
‘Have you let opportunities slip of helping others? Now see if there is some one to whom you might give a cup of cold water. Thank God for such an opportunity, and ask Him to refresh your own soul and He will, but you must be patient. Not at first does He answer. Partly this dryness is to teach you humility167 and sympathy.
‘I would recommend you to be sympathetic in spite of it. Make some definite rule for devotion and keep to it.
‘Be particular about time, one may waste so much in mere talk; have some rule and respect it.
‘Take a little time at mid-day for prayer. Then if you don’t feel right, just go on quietly and untroubled, trying to do as well as you can.
‘Read some daily portion on your knees and look up in faith. He “feedeth the young ravens168 that call upon Him.”
To one who wrote that she found the character of the county in which her school was placed ‘detestable.’
‘I am most sorry about your finding the —— character “detestable.” If you have seemed called to work there, you must be intended to love them, to see what is good in them first, then what needs correction. I dare say their good qualities are just complementary to yours, just what you want.
[282]
‘How does your Bishop169 feel about the flock over which the Great Shepherd has made him overseer? and how does the Great Shepherd Himself feel towards our detestable characters?
Many letters to young teachers dealt with the care of health, which was always impressed as a sacred duty upon girls and teachers alike. Body and mind should be kept fit for duty. Hence social engagements which would make it imperative170 to sit up late at night should be cut off as far as possible. Holidays should be spent in such a way as to gain complete freshness and rest and where there was no risk of infection, not even of taking cold.
Here is one to Miss Arnold:—
‘I am so vexed171 to hear about this chronic172 headache. Remember it is one of your duties to God, Who has given you work, to keep yourself fit, so you must use every means. I dare say a tonic173 would do you good.
‘Take warning too by —— and do not put too great a spiritual strain upon your soul; the body is to have rest and not too great excitement. There have been times of weakness when I have not dared to let myself feel,—not at church or I should have broken down. You are not as weak as that, I hope. I believe you ought to do less in the holidays.’
Again, a month later she wrote:—
‘But I often think that you drive your poor body too hard; if we do that, we have to carry “the ass5” instead of the ass carrying us, and then we break down under the burden.’
Here is a letter to another head-mistress:—
‘I do wish you would take a real rest and holiday. I feel sure it would be more economical in the end. You have led two lives, and for awhile I want you to lead none, go to sleep.... Those whom you have inspired will carry on your work, and then I hope you will come back with fresh energy to take up not all, but a part of the work you have done.’
Miss Beale could also enter into the feelings of exhaustion174 and depression which follow some special trial connected with work. But the sympathy she showed[283] was ever bracing175, as may be seen in the following extracts from letters:—
‘I feel anxious about you, but don’t know what can be done, and think that the school must suffer if you let these private troubles occupy your field of vision.’
‘I am grieved that you are feeling so exhausted176. If your post is clearly at Truro, if you have no call to leave it, then you must brace yourself again, and the work will be done all right, whether in joy or sorrow. If God has given it you, He will give the strength to do it. We are inclined to lie like the impotent man thinking “I can’t.” Directly we hear Christ’s voice—we can! but it may be this body which you starved and ill-treated and worked so hard—“the ass,” as St. Francis, I think, called it, has been overdriven.’
There were many teachers who heard from Miss Beale just at the moment when they seemed to need help. A few words of encouragement would come at such times as the beginning of new work. To one she wrote always for the opening day of the term. Two such letters follow:—
‘January 18, 1897.
‘I am thinking of you on this your opening day, and this text seemed given me for you. “Be strong, and He shall comfort (strengthen, i.e.) thine heart, and put thou thy trust in the Lord.”
‘Try, my child, to live more this year for your children, and to enter, as you are doing, more into the thought that to save our lives we must lose them.’
‘September 18, 1899.
‘I have been thinking about you, and supposed you would begin to-morrow.
‘What a glorious Epistle for this week. May you be strengthened with might by the Spirit, and be filled with all the fulness of God. His power does work in it, above all that we ask or think.
‘The prayer in “Great Souls” speaks specially of those worn down by sickness. I am sorry you feel weak, but the heat has tried every one, and I think you will revive when your children gather round you.
[284]
‘Perhaps this sort of class will be better for you, and I think you are suited for it, because you are sympathetic, and will encourage those who feel themselves backward or not clever, to use the powers they have, to do what they can. May our Lord bless and comfort and guide you, my dear child.’
The College was not an easy place to leave. Miss Beale was proud of the number of head-mistresses she sent out, but she grudged177 parting with her best teachers. And there were many who, like Miss Belcher,[76] sacrificed their own interests to that of the College.
The following is a characteristic letter on the subject:—
‘February 1894.
‘Miss Wolseley Lewis, who has been here nineteen years as pupil and teacher, who is B.A., gold medallist, all round, a charming character, good churchwoman, excellent influence, has come to ask me for a testimonial! I wish I could write she is horrid178!
‘I am losing Miss Edmonds, another gold medallist, and so good all round, because she wants to be M.D. and missionary179. I think it is cruel to take people at this time of year. Is there any chance of Canon Holland waiting?’
But when Miss Wolseley Lewis went to Graham Street, she wrote to her:—
‘You have been much in my thoughts this last Sunday. The sorrow of this year[77] seems to have drawn us nearer, and it is hard to part with you; but I feel you have been called to this work, and I am in the depths of my heart glad. May you in some degree realise the life of the ideal woman, through the indwelling of the Holy Ghost.’
‘I have known her,’ wrote a head-mistress after the death of Miss Beale, ‘for thirty-six years now, and she has been the truest and most valued of friends to me. How we who are head-mistresses of smaller schools will miss her advice and help it is difficult to express.’
And Miss Beale could be most generous in parting[285] with her best even in obedience164 to the claims of ordinary life, claims which she did not find it easy always to recognise. The following letter gives an example of this:—
‘There can be only one answer under the circumstances,—you feel you could not return, and I should feel as you do in your place. It is a great blow to me, for we have learned to feel such trust in one another, and one cannot trust these young teachers to every one.... I shall miss from my staff one whom I had learned to regard as a dear and faithful friend and fellow-worker.’
Many more extracts might be made from Miss Beale’s letters to show her care for teachers and her supreme interest in all that concerned their welfare, but in many cases they suffer by separation from their context. Therefore, from the large mass of correspondence left, a certain number of letters dealing with various subjects have been selected to form a chapter by themselves.
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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ass
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abiding
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| adj.永久的，持久的，不变的 | |
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strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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undoubtedly
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thoroughly
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tact
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scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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peculiar
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dread
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attachments
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attachment
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idol
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upwards
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miserable
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esteem
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helping
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sentimental
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dependence
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injustice
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judgment
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rev
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antagonism
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hatred
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intimacy
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inquiry
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reverencing
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awe
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reign
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drawn
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interval
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amazement
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spoke
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degenerated
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| 衰退，堕落，退化( degenerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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motives
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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guild
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| n.行会，同业公会，协会 | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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thereby
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kindle
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awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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46
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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47
appreciations
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| n.欣赏( appreciation的名词复数 )；感激；评定；（尤指土地或财产的）增值 | |
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48
illuminative
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| adj.照明的，照亮的，启蒙的 | |
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49
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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50
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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51
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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52
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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53
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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54
coalition
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| n.结合体，同盟，结合，联合 | |
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55
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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56
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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57
superseded
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| [医]被代替的，废弃的 | |
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58
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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59
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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60
unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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61
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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62
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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63
wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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64
immortally
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| 不朽地，永世地，无限地 | |
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65
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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66
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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67
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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68
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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69
hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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70
prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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71
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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72
insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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73
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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74
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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75
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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76
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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77
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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78
steadfast
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| adj.固定的，不变的，不动摇的；忠实的；坚贞不移的 | |
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79
utterances
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| n.发声( utterance的名词复数 )；说话方式；语调；言论 | |
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80
inadequate
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|
| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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81
erring
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| 做错事的，错误的 | |
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82
humble
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|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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83
reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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84
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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85
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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86
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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87
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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88
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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89
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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90
vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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91
lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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92
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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93
fortify
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| v.强化防御，为…设防；加强，强化 | |
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94
diligent
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| adj.勤勉的，勤奋的 | |
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95
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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96
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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97
drudgery
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| n.苦工，重活，单调乏味的工作 | |
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98
negligent
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| adj.疏忽的；玩忽的；粗心大意的 | |
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99
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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100
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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101
astuteness
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| n.敏锐；精明；机敏 | |
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102
attuned
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| v.使协调( attune的过去式和过去分词 )；调音 | |
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103
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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104
sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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105
reprehensible
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| adj.该受责备的 | |
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106
larceny
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| n.盗窃（罪） | |
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107
legitimate
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|
| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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108
rebellious
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|
| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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109
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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110
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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111
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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112
obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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113
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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114
futility
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| n.无用 | |
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115
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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116
offender
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| n.冒犯者，违反者，犯罪者 | |
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117
corrupting
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的现在分词 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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118
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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119
anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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120
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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121
impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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122
penitence
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| n.忏悔，赎罪；悔过 | |
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123
watchfulness
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| 警惕，留心； 警觉（性） | |
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124
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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125
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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126
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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127
iniquity
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| n.邪恶；不公正 | |
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128
precept
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| n.戒律；格言 | |
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129
collaboration
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| n.合作，协作；勾结 | |
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130
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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131
deplored
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| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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132
postscript
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| n.附言，又及；(正文后的)补充说明 | |
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133
instilled
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| v.逐渐使某人获得（某种可取的品质），逐步灌输( instill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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134
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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135
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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136
esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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137
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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138
prosper
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| v.成功，兴隆，昌盛；使成功，使昌隆，繁荣 | |
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139
supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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140
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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141
harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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142
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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143
organisation
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| n.组织，安排，团体，有机休 | |
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144
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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145
renewal
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| adj.(契约)延期，续订，更新，复活，重来 | |
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146
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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147
friction
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| n.摩擦，摩擦力 | |
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148
exponents
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| n.倡导者( exponent的名词复数 )；说明者；指数；能手 | |
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149
notably
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| adv.值得注意地，显著地，尤其地，特别地 | |
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150
gore
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| n.凝血，血污；v.（动物）用角撞伤，用牙刺破；缝以补裆；顶 | |
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151
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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152
suffrage
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| n.投票，选举权，参政权 | |
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153
impair
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| v.损害，损伤；削弱，减少 | |
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154
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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155
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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156
delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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157
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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158
superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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159
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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160
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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161
livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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162
foresight
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| n.先见之明，深谋远虑 | |
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163
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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164
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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165
sloth
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| n.[动]树懒；懒惰，懒散 | |
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166
intercede
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| vi.仲裁，说情 | |
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167
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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168
ravens
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| n.低质煤；渡鸦( raven的名词复数 ) | |
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169
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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170
imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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171
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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172
chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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173
tonic
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| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
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174
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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175
bracing
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| adj.令人振奋的 | |
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176
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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177
grudged
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| 怀恨（grudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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178
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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