The Upton Letters | Page 3

ON your life will now begin to shine THROUGH it
instead; and let me add one word. My assurance grows firmer, from
day to day, that we are in stronger hands than our own. It is true that I
see things in other lives which look as if those hands were wantonly
cruel, hard, unloving; but I reflect that I cannot see all the conditions; I
can only humbly fall back upon my own experience, and testify that
even the most daunting and humiliating things have a purifying effect;
and I can perceive enough at all events to encourage me to send my
heart a little farther than my eyes, and to believe that a deep and urgent
love is there.--Ever affectionately yours,
T. B.

UPTON, Jan. 26, 1904.
DEAR HERBERT,--So it is to be Madeira at present? Well, I know
Madeira a little, and I can honestly congratulate you. I had feared it
might be Switzerland. I could not LIVE in Switzerland. It does me
good to go there, to be iced and baked and washed clean with pure air.
But the terrible mountains, so cold and unchanged, with their
immemorial patience, their frozen tranquillity; the high hamlets,
perched on their lonely shelves; the bleak pine-trees, with their
indomitable strength--all these depress me. Of course there is much
homely beauty among the lower slopes; the thickets, the falling streams,
the flowers. But the grim black peaks look over everywhere; and there
is seldom a feeling of the rich and comfortable peace such as one gets
in England. Madeira is very different. I have been there, and must
truthfully confess that it does not suit me altogether--the warm air, the
paradisal luxuriance, the greenhouse fragrance, are not a fit setting for a
blond, lymphatic man, who pants for Northern winds. But it will suit
you; and you will be one of those people, spare and compact as you are,
who find themselves vigorous and full of energy there. I have many

exquisite vignettes from Madeira which linger in my mind. The high
hill-villages, full of leafy trees; the grassy downs at the top; the droop
of creepers, full of flower and fragrance, over white walls; the sapphire
sea, under huge red cliffs. You will perhaps take one of those
embowered Quintas high above the town, in a garden full of shelter and
fountains. And I am much mistaken if you do not find yourself in a
very short time passionately attached to the place. Then the people are
simple, courteous, unaffected, full of personal interest. Housekeeping
has few difficulties and no terrors.
I can't get away for a night; but I will come and dine with you one day
this week, if you can keep an evening free.
And one thing I will promise--when you are away, I will write to you
as often as I can. I shall not attempt any formal letters, but I shall begin
with anything that is in my mind, and stop when I feel disposed; and
you must do the same. We won't feel bound to ANSWER each other's
letters; one wastes time over that. What I shall want to know is what
you are thinking and doing, and I shall take for granted you desire the
same.
You will be happier, now that you KNOW; I need not add that if I can
be of any use to you in making suggestions, it will be a real
pleasure.--Ever yours,
T. B.

UPTON, Feb. 3, 1904.
MY DEAR HERBERT,--It seems ages since we said good-bye--yet it
is not a week ago. And now I have been at work all day correcting
exercises, teaching, talking. I have had supper with the boys, and I have
been walking about since and talking to them--the nicest part of my
work. They are at this time of the day, as a rule, in good spirits,
charitable, sensible. What an odd thing it is that boys are so delightful
when they are alone, and so tiresome (not always) when they are

together. They seem, in public, to want to show their worst side, to be
ashamed of being supposed to be good, or interested, or thoughtful, or
tender-hearted. They are so afraid of seeming better than they are, and
pleased to appear worse than they are. I wonder why this is? It is the
same more or less with most people; but one sees instincts at their
nakedest among boys. As I go on in life, the one thing I desire is
simplicity and reality; pose is the one fatal thing. The dullest person
becomes interesting if you feel that he is really himself, that he is not
holding up some absurd shield or other in front of his shivering soul.
And yet how hard it is, even when