Letters to His Friends | Page 8

a state of temporary collapse, but
I remember the other two during tea carried on an animated discussion
upon the creation as described in Genesis. We all felt better after the

{20} rest and covered the last stage fairly easily, arriving at Christ's at
9.30 P.M. We had a meal in Forbes's rooms, fought our battles over
again, and retired to rest about midnight.
The thing which remains with me best is the amazing ease with which
Forbes accomplished the journey. It is a matter of common experience
that prolonged physical effort reacts on the mind; conversation
becomes difficult, and cheerfulness forced. I must say that in my case
the thought which for a considerable period occupied my mind was
how I was to get to the end. But it was not so with Forbes. He travelled
lightly, talking happily on all subjects the whole day. It seemed to make
little difference to him whether he took food or no, and he was as
willing to stop at every place of refreshment we suggested as to march
the whole day without a meal.

{21}
CHAPTER III
WORK AT CAMBRIDGE
In September 1891 Forbes was ordained as curate to his brother
Armitage, who was at that time vicar of All Saints', Cambridge. Several
of the letters which are given later refer to his thoughts and feelings at
the time of his ordination. His connection with All Saints' did not last
more than a year, as his brother resigned in the following spring.
Forbes had already been licensed as chaplain to Emmanuel College. He
received priest's orders in 1892. In 1895 he was appointed theological
lecturer at Christ's College, and in the following year, May 30, 1896,
was elected a fellow. During the same year he was appointed an
examining chaplain to the Bishop of Southwell.
One who knew him well, soon after the time of his ordination, writes: 'I
cannot remember how we first became acquainted, beyond the fact that
I used to meet him in the rooms of some prominent members of the
College Football XV. All I know is that several of our year got to know

him quite well, and the friendship grew with time. The fact that he had
distinguished himself in the Moral Science Tripos at {22} first rather
awed me, a freshman. But I soon got over that feeling, for he was the
last person in the world to trouble any one with a sense of intellectual
inferiority.
'I am sure the private business hours of the Debating Society were some
of his happiest moments. His magnificent assumption of wrath on the
most absurd grounds; his vast intensity over trivialities; his love for the
heat and play of debate, would have made a stranger believe he lived
for nothing else.
'Physical strength and virtue seemed to have a strange attraction for
him. His assortment of athlete friends was peculiarly wide, and his
frank admiration of their qualities gave them a pleasant feeling that in
some way he looked up to them--a feeling which I am sure
strengthened the hold he had over them.
'He was a tireless walker, and could go far on very little. A party of us
used to take long walks, often on a Sunday, to various places in the
country. There was generally a volume of Burke or Emerson in his
pocket, whose sonorous periods filled the interval when we lunched
frugally or rested. I have never known him anything but
good-humoured under any conditions. His enthusiasm for our most
commonplace jests was unfailing--perhaps one of the surest ways of
getting to a man's heart and staying there--and he had a wide tolerance
for the minor offences of undergraduate thought and deed. Yet, as for
the tone of conversation when he was near, I need scarcely say that one
simply did not think of anything unpleasant or vulgar, much less say it.
'I used to admire his immense power of putting {23} his thoughts into
words, but he could be silent too. Sometimes he would come to my
rooms when I was working, throw himself into an arm-chair, and
absolutely refuse to speak. After a considerable interval perhaps he
would consider I had worked long enough, and cocoa and conversation
would follow. But it was when I visited him in his own rooms that I
remember things most vividly.

'I can still see that little room under the roof; the picture on the wall of
the dead saint floating on the dark water; the well-filled bookcase; the
table piled with volumes; himself throwing everything aside to greet
one. It was almost with a feeling of awe that I sometimes climbed those
stairs and entered into his presence. Perhaps it would be for a lesson on
the New Testament--for when I was reading for