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mind, and the management of Queen's failing to secure her approval, she somewhat rashly decided that her own theories would find freer scope in the Clergy Daughters' School of Brontë fame, now removed from Cowan Bridge to Casterton. ‘Times are unlike Jane Eyre,” she wrote soon after her arrival there; but many barbarisms survived, and the London teacher, filled with missionary zeal and high hopes for “women and the race,’ burned to remove them. The control of the school, however, lay in the hands of six clergymen much respected in the neighbourhood, who had on their part settled views as to the right training of the female intelligence and showed no disposition to welcome missionary enterprise in their own field. Proposals to mitigate the penal discipline of the school were overruled as heretical, after a discussion in which one clerical humorist remarked : “We do hear of angels being punished, but not of their going up higher.” Other differences arose. Miss Beale's Anglicanism proved profoundly alarming to Calvinistic Yorkshire; the restrained gravity of her manner and the cut of her dark nunlike dress were suspect no less than her unconcealed ardour for reform. “Be firm but very gentle' was the counsel received from a wise father at this trying juncture; and perhaps his daughter paid most heed to the first part of it. Anyhow, the Casterton experiment ended abruptly, and in the closing days of 1857 she returned to London to digest her failure at leisure. Her use of the interval which followed was exceedingly characteristic. A certain school-book convicted of some Romish taint had lately been pronounced unfit for young English minds. Dorothea Beale, with her quick practical instinct, perceived the educational gap, and, heartsick and anxious as she was, bent all her remarkable powers of concentration to the task of filling it, accomplishing her work on the bare floor of an attic, unfurnished and fireless, severities which the student welcomed as a convenient check to friendly intrusions. The result of her labours was published in August 1858, and probably Miss Beale's own subordinates were the first to make use of her “Text-book of History,’ for the same month saw her established at Cheltenham. The Ladies’ College had been founded five years before this time by a group of enlightened gentlemen inspired by the notion that it might be possible, without impairing the ‘modesty and gentleness of the female character,’ to cultivate within reasonable limits the female mind. It was to be tried, in short, whether
angels might not be promoted as well as punished. So far the public had not met the venture with any great show of enthusiasm, and even the arrival of the new lady principal with her reputation for advanced ideas failed at first to revive the precarious fortunes of the school. Possibly her reputation was a doubtful asset, for the moral atmosphere of Cheltenham was no more genial to reform than that of other places. Those were still the days when the word “college' in connexion with girls was liable to be received with roars of laughter. Rich parents could not understand why their daughters should be educated. Some believed that girls would become like boys if they studied the same subjects. The introduction of Euclid would have been the death of the school. Scientific teaching slipped in unobserved under the name of physical geography. “This subject, Miss Beale remarks drily, was considered unobjectionable, “as few boys learned geography.’ Anxious mothers seemed to see the piano, the buttress of their own youth, decaying before their eyes. To appease them Miss Beale provided classes at which four pupils performed simultaneously the same piece on two pianos. Ungrateful for this concession, Cheltenham society took no notice of the new head-mistress, and the leaders of the religious world held aloof from what they regarded as a doubtful departure. Miss Beale, fortunately, was one of those who find opposition ‘an excellent tonic.” She was young; her quiet ways concealed unlimited vigour and resolution; her appearance, slender, pale, smooth-browed, was charming, as a faded photograph of the time still testifies; and her manner and disposition, the School Council was pleased to declare, were such as to render it “pleasant to maintain frequent personal communication with her.’ Dorothea Beale wasted nothing, least of all experience, and memories of Casterton, painful as they were, proved of good service to her in her dealings with her large and not always manageable board. She was complimented upon her ‘wisdom in accepting adverse resolutions with equanimity,” and naturally lost nothing by such wisdom, business, no doubt, getting itself accomplished more and more smoothly under a lady principal who accepted verbal defeat with calmness, her Council in return sooner or later carrying out her desires. At all events, after the first desperate struggle for existence the school made rapid headway on the lines of advance laid down by herself, growing continually beyond its bounds, until it took final shape in the stately Gothic building, with its halls, classrooms, and laboratories, its boarding-houses, training college, auxiliary day school, sanatorium, kindergarten, and even— not altogether to the liking of Miss Beale, whose independent spirit scorned free education—its affiliated elementary school. New teachers in their leisure moments watched with fascination Miss Beale's masterly sway of her small kingdom. She possessed the qualification, not always found in good workers, of getting good work from others. To the educational purpose of which the college building formed, as it were, but a crude outward symbol she devoted every faculty of body, mind and soul, and of her staff she demanded no less. That some were unable to rise to the standard set before them is less surprising than the large response she obtained to her exalted ideal. Complaints were heard in some quarters that the school was Church-like. Dorothea Beale gloried in the reproach. In her view all knowledge was sacred, and she liked to think of the college as a spiritual building, a little com. munity held by invisible bonds, the mystic in her looking beyond the practical ends of education to inspired ideals for “women and the race.’ It was the secret desire of her heart that from her work might one day rise a chosen body of women who should go forth in the world as a teaching order; and as in imagination she contemplated the labours of this intellectual sisterhood, who knows what visions of human progress—or, in her own language, of “soul evolution'—filled her thoughts : Obviously the atmosphere of a school under such a lady principal—one had almost said under such a lady abbess—would be bracing, too bracing perhaps for some constitutions. Ten minutes' meditation on rising, just to plume one’s feathers for a few short flights from the earth,’ was the modest spiritual exercise privately recommended by Miss Beale; but as you follow the college routine you seem to be watching a succession of short flights from the earth. There were, for instance, literature classes, whose chief purpose was to convey high teaching on life and conduct. “Blessed are the pure in heart —poor Swift l”—that,” said Miss Beale, recalling a dictum of her father's, was the best literature lesson I ever received ’; and her own lessons were given in the same spirit. Shakespeare's plays proved useful, for ‘knowledge of character is so important to women.' Dryden, Pope, and other distinguished exponents of inferior thought suffered, it is to be feared, considerable neglect; but no young lady left Cheltenham without a close acquaintance with the ethics of Browning. History, of course, abounded in moral illustrations, which were not impressed upon the pupils only, the college teachers on one occasion receiving a summons to hear the “truth about Cranmer, time-serving, and cowardice. Then there were college plays, for which Miss Beale, who held that recreation should be purposeful too, demanded always something ‘really high – Griselda,’ ‘Britomart,” or Tennyson’s ‘Princess.’ There was a college magazine also, through which it was hoped members might ‘enrich each other’ by interchange of thought. Unfortunately, no samples of the writing produced under such an impulse are given; but light breaks in cheerfully with a batch of letters on the subject from Ruskin, whose ruthless criticisms are tempered by affectionate respect and admiration for the magazine's editor. Clearly a high-minded, highly educated lady, leading the public schools and the universities in the teaching of Euclid; instructing herself and others in languages and literatures, in science and philosophies, old and new ; learning shorthand in her old age ‘as a diversion '; earning recognition from learned societies at home and abroad, gold medals from Paris, honours from America, from Durham University, from the University of London, an honorary LL.D. from the University of Edinburgh, and with it all ready, you conceive, at any moment to cast away all she knew and all she had gained for the salvage of one ‘moral truth.” ‘Très Anglaise,’ writes a French student, “les Anglais l’avaient bien comprise.” Miss Beale's influence was of a singularly impersonal character. As a natural consequence of her indifference to things merely social she saw comparatively little of her teachers; some she hardly knew at all. Her shyness, again, stood as a partial barrier between herself and her students. It is likely also that, as a representative in a special sense of her own sex, so often accused of being too personal, she would be scrupulous to eliminate as far as might be the personal element from her work. But, still more, something in the very essence of her own nature forbade her to exercise powers not strictly to be justified by reason. Though she possessed in a high degree the mysterious quality called influence, she had, we are told, a peculiar dread of the word itself and all it stands for, and there is evidence, almost pathetic, of the pains she took to strip herself of her natural advantages. It is easy enough to capture the admiration of impulsive girls on the look-out for some object on which to expend superfluous feeling. Unauthorised excursions in this line received no encouragement from Miss Beale, and when we read in her diary the confession, “yearned to be loved,’ there is something touching in her consistent refusal to compete with those who had an earlier claim on the affections of her students. Other reasons besides loyalty or shyness kept her from forming close ties with her college ‘children.’ Women, according to George Eliot, are in danger of living too exclusively by the affections. Miss Beale seems to have been deeply impressed by the danger. ‘Our friendship,” she writes of a loved fellow-teacher, “never degenerated into any foolish or selfish attachment'; and she will often warn her friends against similar follies and selfishness. Naturally, one so jealous to preserve a fine personal liberty in the ordinary relationships of life will be no less fastidious in higher regions, and the paradox that, whilst she held her own faith with clear and passionate conviction, she was often claimed as an ally by those from whom she differed, is one of which it is easy to see the explanation. The practical results of the campaign in which Miss Beale played so distinguished a part are matters of course to-day, though differences of opinion may still exist as to the precise value to be set upon them. Possibly in remote places some may still be found to regret the opening of new horizons and new careers to women, and their invasion of the universities and the professions; or may deny that it was really necessary to destroy ‘misplaced female reverence for the learning of a pass-man.’ And these things were of but secondary importance to Miss Beale herself, whose ultimate goal was always character and moral development. The gain in this direction must remain a matter of conjecture and dispute. Miss Beale's friend and fellow-pioneer, Miss Buss, in moments of depression would complain that the girls of the last decade of her work were less easy to influence than those of the first. And Miss Beale, in her last public utterance, suggested the melancholy reflection that, after all that had been done to cultivate the feminine understanding, many women remained ‘not serious, not devoted.’ It would have been interesting to learn more from one who had witnessed changes ‘inconceivably great' and was well qualified to estimate their effect; but here, as elsewhere in this biography, curiosity is met by an impenetrable wall of reserve. Our final view is of a rather lonely sovereign, gradually hemmed in by the solid evidences of her triumph, until her own house loses sight altogether of the outer world and knows no other light and air than it derives from the corridors of the surrounding college. And Miss Beale, we are hardly surprised to hear, preferred that it should be so.” ELEANOR CECIL. .