IX.-FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL: MUSICIAN

AND POETESS.

ON June 3, 1879, the Reaper whose name is Death cut down in the glory and grace of her womanhood one of the loveliest daughters of poetry and music this generation has been privileged to hear and see. This is not a light thing to say, as the number of women singers of note who have of late years awakened the admiration of an appreciative public has been larger-much larger-than at any previous period of our national history.

In some respects the worthy Canon's daughter resembled the sweet singer who, more than a century ago, wrote under the nom de plume of Theodosia,' but who is better known as Anne Steele, and whose hymns are in all the churches of Christendom; but if the name of 'Theodosia' fades into obscurity as poetess, that of Frances Ridley Havergal will, we are sure, shine on with undimned glory.

In his lecture delivered many years ago before the Young Men's Christian Association,* the learned Dr. McCosh asked, 'Is the time of great poets, as some would hint, necessarily passed away? I, for one, believe no such thing. But I am convinced, at the same time, that poets who would do in these times what the older poets did in their days must strike out a path different from that in which the ancients walked. The novelist has, it seems to me, already entered on this path. He has described human nature, or at least certain features of it, its passions, foibles, consistencies and inconsistencies; and so his works have had a popularity in these days far exceeding that of the poet' . . . But, says the same gifted metaphysician, I believe as the world advances in education and civilisation, and entertains a greater number and variety of thoughts on all subjects, and is susceptible of an ever-increasing range of emotions, poetry must take up the theme and make the workings of human nature its favourite subject. This is a mine of which the ancients gathered only the surface gold, but which is open to any one who has courage and strength to penetrate into its depths, and thence to draw exhaustless treasures. As the most inviting of all topics to the poet, I would point to the human soul, to its convictions and its doubts, to its writhings and struggles,

* The Imagination: its use and abuse.

in boyhood and manhood, in idleness and in bustle-to its swaying motives, its desperate fights, and its crowning conquests.'

This has been the theme of Miss Havergal's pen for many a year. Her success as a poetess dealing with the difficulties of the soul is not less signal than that of George Eliot in another sphere of literature. Since the death of this elect lady [many biographical sketches of her have appeared, and the surroundings of her life are now pretty well known to multitudes who had no personal knowledge of her; but though the leading events of her life have now become generally known, yet her inner spiritual life, though laid out before us in the 'memorials' which her beloved sister has published, through the firm of Nisbet & Co., has not been, we think, sufficiently dwelt upon in any of the magazine sketches that have appeared; certainly, a large number of them have failed to do justice to this element in the memorials.

Remembering that there is often a very close connection between the character of the worker and the character of work done, the one being the outcome of the other, it is desirable that we form something like a correct idea of character in order to our justly and fairly dealing with the nature of the work attempted and done.

These remarks we hold are specially applicable to the career of Miss Havergal. Thousands who, during the last few years, have read her works, both poetical and prose, have found their hearts strangely stirred by a calm, holy influence, like that which one has felt while reading Thomas A. Kempis, or Jeremy Taylor. Like theirs, the writings of Miss Havergal are the expression of her spiritual life; we shall therefore look at her work as a devotional writer in the light of her spiritual history.

In the year 1859 she wrote an autobiography for her sister to unseal at some future time. This sealed packet was opened only a short time ago, and a perusal of it shows what manner of life she lived from about seven years of age to the period of early womanhood. In this confidential sketch she refers to the fact that she was anxious to relieve her friends from all anxiety on her account, assuming that they must often have grieved because her early life had not always been such as becometh the gospel of Christ. She assured them herein that, even in her darkest and most careless days, she was not utterly forsaken of that Spirit who she prayed might never cease to strive with her.

She states that, though up to six years of age she had no definite religious ideas, a very different state of things occurred when be

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tween six and eight. Archdeacon Phillpotts preached a sermon about this time, which produced an impression that lingered with her for years, yet she disliked being talked to,' as she puts it, and for her dear friend, Marian P., to read a chapter of the Bible in her hearing was a 'terrible bore.' Yet it was at this age when, one spring, as she gazed upon the beauties of Nature, she wanted to feel that God, who had made all things so beautiful, would make her a Christian. For half a dozen times a day during the spring did she exclaim, 'O, if God would but make me a Christian before the summer comes?' That summer came and passed, but she was yet a stranger to the joys of God's salvation.

In 1845 her father, having resigned the Astley living, removed to Worcester, where the spiritual concern awakened in her young heart by the Holy Spirit under the ministry of Archdeacon Phillpotts was deepened under the ministry of a curate who assisted Mr. Havergal. She had an idea that, by praying a good deal-although at that time she had no clear ideas of faith in Christ--she would experience a very sudden change; but this sudden change came not.

That strange abhorrence to being talked to,' to which she alludes, was now wearing off, and one day, while alone with the curate, she ventured to open her lips to him with reference to her state of soul. As Eli failed to see that the Lord had called the child, so the Worcester curate failed to recognise the voice of God's good Spirit in the heart of Frances at that time. Sorely disappointed, she did not make known her state to any one but God for the next five years. During those years there came a trial to her that was heavy to bear. Her mother sickened and died. In a little book, entitled 'Four Happy Days,' she tells of a prayer which her dying mother offered for her, and which Frances made a life prayer. Fanny, dear,' said the dying one, pray to God to prepare you for all that He is preparing for you.' The bitterness of the bereavement which fell upon her in the July of 1848 intensified the sorrow which had been generated within her since the day when Archdeacon Phillpotts preached the sermon to which we have referred. She tells of the shiver which came over her, as from her little room window she saw the funeral pass out of the gate into the church, doubtless like that which came over Cowper when, as he says, referring

to his mother's burial

I heard the bell toll'd on thy burial day,
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away,
And, turning from my nurs'ry window, drew
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu.

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The very thought of God frightened her. True, she thought 'how good it was of God to send Jesus to die;' 'night after night she fell asleep crying because she was so bad, while God was so good.' How many have, by-the-bye, felt just as she did at this time.

In 1850, when in her thirteenth year, she was sent to school. While there she found what she had sought for nearly seven long years. It was in the autumn that Miss Havergal went to the school in which there occurred a 'revival' among the young ladies. First one and then another testified of peace and joy through believing; and in secret she wept and prayed that she, too, might be able to rejoice with the same joy. One day, after months of very earnest prayer, she entered into conversation with one of her schoolfellows, and declared 'how, for the knowledge of God's favour, she could freely give up father, brothers, sisters, and all else.' Yet there seemed to be a hindrance. Her companion happened to say, "Why cannot you trust yourself to your Saviour now? Supposing that now, at this moment, Christ were to come in the clouds of heaven and take up His redeemed, could you not trust Him? Would not His call, His promise, be enough for you? Could you not commit your soul to Him, to your Saviour, Jesus?

The set time to favour her had now come, or, to speak more correctly, she saw how plain the way of salvation was. She had been putting feeling in the place of faith.

She writes, 'Then came a flash of hope across me which made me feel literally breathless. I remember how my heart beat.' Leaving her companion, she rushed upstairs, and, kneeling there, says she, 'I committed my soul to the Saviour, I do not mean to say without any trembling or fear, but I did, and earth and heaven seemed bright from I did trust the Lord Jesus.'

that moment.

way

Such is the history of the spiritual struggle through which she passed, and by which she became pre-eminently able to teach others the of peace, and especially young children and adults; but not these only. Every day her hymns are being used by many of the leading evangelists both in England, America, and our colonies, not to mention other lands, because they find her hymns are so greatly and generally blessed to the conviction and conversion of sinners, and also to the comfort and consecration of saints.

After her conversion she was placed in circumstances where her faith was tried to the last degree. In November, 1852, Miss Havergal went to a large school at Düsseldorf. face with the splendours of Romanism; but, as a descendant of Ridley,

While there she came face to

the English Protestant martyr, she let her light shine before the 110 pupils in the Düsseldorf school, of which pastor Schulze-Berge, was the principal. A few lines from a letter written by him may be given as a testimony to her moral worth: What imprinted the stamp of nobility upon her whole being,' says he, and influenced all her opinions, was her true piety and the deep reverence she had for her Lord and Saviour, whose example penetrated her through and through.'

In 1854, having returned to England, Miss Havergal was confirmed in the Worcester Cathedral. Whatever may be our opinion as to the scriptural validity of the rite of confirmation as administered by the Bishop, and we do not scruple to say that it is altogether adverse, yet when Bishop Pepys confirmed Miss Havergal, her ardent and believing soul entered into a covenant with the Lord. A verse written on that day shows her spiritual state :

Only for Jesus! Lord, keep it ever,

Sealed on the heart and engraved on the life;
Pulse of all gladness, and nerve of endeavour,

Secret of rest, and the strength of our strife.

And just as the Poet of Methodism used to commemorate the day of his conversion at times by writing new hymns suitable to the occasion, so Miss Havergal composed in successive years hymns bearing upon hercovenant' with God.

Miss Havergal's religion was by no means asceticism, although some of her habits were what some were pleased to call puritanic. The picture which an Irish girl drew of her when she visited the Emerald Isle, in 1856, is a very appropriate one: her fair, sunny curls falling round her shoulders, her bright eyes dancing, and her fresh, sweet voice ringing,' will be the picture that rises up before any one's imagination who had the privilege of seeing her in the flesh. Outwardly all was bright and happy, and her hands were full of work for many years; yet there had been a suspicion rising up every now and then that she was not living in the enjoyment of full salvation, perfect love, or entire sanctification. Before the year 1873 doubts often clouded her faith, and fears disturbed the quiet of her peace. The circumstance which led to a joyous change from the dawn to mid-day splendour was the following: A friend, very dear to her, sent a little book, headed 'All for Jesus.' Every word of it seemed to carry light and power. Thankful for it, she wrote as follows to her friend: 'I do so long for deeper and fuller teaching in my own heart. I know I love Jesus, and there are times when I feel such intensity of love to Him that I have not words to describe it. but I want to come nearer still, and