Works of Ellen Wood, page 1335
“Her kindness — the term is rather tame, but I can think of none more suitable — was a very conspicuous feature of her character. It was shown in many ways, great and small; in the steadfastness of her friendship, in her helpfulness where help was needed, in her charity to the needy in a lower station, the sick and suffering poor; and in those small but not less real proofs of it, the kindly welcome, sincere though never effusive, the generous hospitality, the consideration for your comfort, even in trifles, which made her house to me, at least, a home for twenty years.
“Her kindness was equalled by her sympathy. I think, nay, I am sure, that I scarcely ever met with any one to whom I could confide my difficulties or communicate my successes, however small either may have been, with so great a certainty of true appreciation and hearty encouragement. In that respect she was one of the truest friends I ever had.
“Had her kindness and sympathy been less than they were, I think it possible that her sense of duty, her innate truthfulness, and her habit of carefully weighing people and things, would have made her severe in her judgment and expressions; but in point of fact it was the reverse with her, and the impression she has left upon my mind is of one possessing great tolerance of others, and from whom I never heard a harsh or uncharitable opinion. Ill-nature was as foreign to her words as it was to her deeds. She possessed a great reverence, but only for what was worthy of it; emphatically giving every one his due. Honour to whom honour. Yet she would never, I might say could never, have condoned what she deemed wrong in any one, be his or her station what it might; nor did she seek a position in the world to which her talents and her own personal gifts would, had she chosen, have introduced her. Her tastes were simple, and lay in another direction — the retirement and happiness of domestic life.
“Her natural reverence was associated with another very prominent characteristic — her love of order in the high sense given to it by the poet, that it is c Heaven’s first law.’ She could not tolerate disobedience or want of due respect in any one, and assumption or conceit were, I think, next to what was absolutely wrong, the things most distasteful to her. Some might have thought her sometimes to be over-strict in matters of small moment, and perhaps a little too exacting now and then; but in fact her nature was so thorough and so consistent, that I question if she regarded anything as trifling that had to do with duty, whether in a friend, a child, or a domestic. Where it was otherwise, she possessed in large measure that charity which covereth a multitude of sins in others. Her external life was marked by great simplicity, and by no means consisted in the abundance of the things which she possessed. It rested on what was real and not on what was artificial; her enjoyments were intellectual and social. She had no ‘hobbies,’ as they are called, she neither bought pictures nor collected ‘curios,’ nor affected sympathy with those who did. She loved music and flowers, but books and friends proved her chief pleasures, and the great sea of human life that ebbed and flowed around was in all its multitudinous aspects, its cares, its joys, and its occupations, a never-failing theme of interest.
“Any description of Mrs. Henry Wood’s character would be materially incomplete that did not include some mention of her domestic and, above all, her religious life. Yet here, for obvious reasons, my words must be few. It was impossible not to perceive how very close to her mind was her children’s welfare, and how unceasing was her endeavour to promote it by every means in her power, her aim being not only, nor perhaps so much, their temporal good, as that they should in all respects grow up in accordance with her own high standard of right and duty. Her religious life was uniformly marked by the same reality, thoroughness, and yet simplicity which so strongly distinguished her in all other respects. In it there were both strength and depth, but no noise.
“In all connected with that important subject she took a deep interest. Her own views, coming as they did from reflection and conviction, were not only practical but decided. Indeed, of all the persons I have known, she was, as it struck me, the least likely to be led away by the doctrines of men, however great or learned. Where she had confidence in a person’s goodness and aptness to teach, she was a very willing and attentive listener. She took her views straight from the Bible, whose teachings in their fulness she humbly and reverently accepted as the guide for herself and others.”
The following reminiscences from Dr. Alexander H. Japp may not unfittingly close this chapter: —
“In the seventies my connection with Good Words and the Sunday Magazine brought me into relationship with Mrs. Henry Wood. I had occasionally seen Mrs. Wood before this through my friendship with her son, but then I saw her more frequently, alike on business and in social intercourse, being often invited to St. John’s Wood Park. The first and most lasting impression made on my mind was of a very still, sweet presence, in whose atmosphere no discord could dwell. She looked at once very firm and very amiable — a mixture which in her was tempered by the outflow of ready and unaffected sympathy. Quietude, with an air of great sincerity, and a repose which had in it nothing of self-satisfaction, or indifference to any feeling or emotion in others. She was thus essentially good-mannered — a lady in the truest sense of the word, who had the art — not always a part of so-called good manners — of setting you at once and completely at your ease. I remember, on the first occasion of my dining at her house, a certain tremor in the sense of being for the first time brought into close contact with the great novelist, which was perhaps natural and excusable in me; but it vanished the moment I had exchanged a few words with her, and had answered some unexpected kindly questions about my children, and their characters and ways; about their education, and so on; and, in fact, before I had been beside her half an hour, the great novelist was forgotten, and only the gracious and sympathetic woman was before me.
“Another thing that much impressed me at an early stage of my acquaintance with her was a very uncommon mixture of tact — that seemed natural to her — and ready, quick interest. She was not only keen to hear all about what her sons were interested in and concerned with, but also about their friends and their concerns. In a gentle way she drew every one out, without obtruding herself at all. There was no fussiness, nothing of the busy-body, but a healthy, natural, graceful, easy expression of interest that was prevailing, though in no way boldly asserted. Her whole appearance and expression betokened gentleness, but gentleness with possibilities of great firmness of will behind it where it was needful to exercise it — like Wordsworth’s Margaret, ‘a woman of a steady mind.’ She was slight of stature, but with a very graceful carriage of the head, and the kind of figure that looks taller than it really is from moving lightly, and with an airy ease: intellectual without affectation, and refined while still in the best sense domesticated and approachable.
“She was not much inclined to discuss her own novels; but I remember well on one occasion when I was at her house, and Miss Hesba Stretton and Miss Anne Beale were there, her readiness to speak of the points in their works which had been interesting to her, and which she had derived pleasure from. She was, with regard to the works of others, at once keen and generous in judgment.
“One of the things about which I had to talk with her was the touching story of ‘Bessy Wells,’ a story of low life in London, which appeared in the pages of the Sunday Magazine. I had already seen a good bit in the way of visiting low quarters of London, alike in the purlieus of Drury Lane, Old Kent Road, Deptford, Ratcliffe Highway, and other parts, and her interest in the little details which I could communicate to her was very great indeed. It is astonishing how keen her curiosities were in these matters, and how absolutely, by force of imagination and sympathy, she had realised the whole condition and scope of that life; so that few suggestions needed to be given her in regard to ‘Bessy Wells,’ compared with what it has been my lot to have to tender to writers of fiction alike as regards the circumstances of the poor, prisons, reformatories, etc. Her realising power is scarcely anywhere more marked than in this little story, which in this respect has a value of its own, though it does not of course aim at the kind of interest which obtains in her novels proper. But it shows her especially as the interested inquirer into social conditions, and into the means by which the sufferings of the poor and fallen might be lessened or removed.
“Though with none of the affectations of the Society woman, she was a very racy talker, and apt at finding the available meeting-point in another, due in degree to her quick sympathy, in degree to her insight and natural tact. And it may be added that, although she was averse to discussing her own books, she would very readily discuss the knotty points in a plot, or listen to a difficulty that had arisen in a complicated law-case, or the solution that had been brought to some exciting mystery in real life. Her quiet and unobtrusive largeness of interest was one of the most noticeable things about her. It was seen in her ways with her children; in her happy art in finding unmistakably the interests of others and in answering to them; and to this perhaps was due in great degree her splendid memory, from which anything that had touched or deeply impressed her was really never effaced. The secret too, perhaps, of her success in pictures of boy-character.
“Whatever subject came on the tapis, she was apt to throw new light upon it. How gently came her suggestive words, how sufficing the reasons with which on occasion she could back up the position she took! And she had a great art in stating a case. Even if this was no more than the impression that certain words or acts must have on the mind of another person, she had the gift of making it clear, and by this gift was able to serve others very materially.
“I can clearly see her once more as I write, her fine, expressive countenance lit up as she bends forward a little in her chair, gently to suggest some new view or point that had been left out of count, as with her right hand she throws back her cap-string, and then quietly extends her hand towards you; and the smile that accompanies the action is the finest commentary on the words and on her kindly intents. I could add more were I near papers and letters which are unfortunately at a distance; but these few paragraphs will perhaps suffice to attest the abiding impression made on me of gentleness, resolution, grace, elevation of character, large sympathy and disinterestedness which I carried away with me from those visits I paid to Mrs. Wood at St. John’s Wood Park, the recollection of which I cherish.”
CHAPTER XXVII
“That God, which ever lives and loves,
One God, one law, one element,
And one far-off divine event,
To which the whole creation moves.”
THESE letters and records out of an immense number received, all strike the same keynote, showing that Mrs. Henry Wood’s influence extended almost as a mesmeric atmosphere to friends and strangers alike, all instinctively recognising the beauty and charm of her nature.
Her life was lived in the calmest and most gentle manner. It has been said that religion was seldom mentioned by her, as too sacred to be made the topic of conversation. On rare occasions, when it became her duty to speak, her words were few, but impressive with the rare power of conviction. In the earlier years of training, she never wearied even her children with lengthened sittings and difficult tasks, but she never omitted to have them with her for a few minutes morning after morning, year after year; and if the earnest tones failed in their mission, no earthly power could avail.
It is right to insist upon this, the highest and best of her many gifts; especially in these days when thoughts and opinions are changing; and because it has too often been the case that the higher spiritual graces have not accompanied great powers of the imagination.
It was also the unobtrusiveness of that spiritual life which gave it such prevailing influence, conquering by the force of example alone. She was followed, but she never commanded or dictated. Yet we possess letters from great men declaring that her influence upon them will be undying; and this is no mere form of words.
An intimate friend and learned divine was wont to say: “Whatever of greatness, or beauty, or charm there is in Mrs. Henry Wood’s heroines, she herself infinitely surpasses them all.” And again he would add: “She had persuaded him into the belief that, as there had been religious inspiration in the past, so there was secular inspiration in the present.” This was the opinion of one who had seen more of the world and human nature than most of his kind.
In the sense of a void neither time nor change can ever fill again, all praise falls cold, lifeless and unworthy. It may seem to some that her charms and virtues have been exaggerated. It is indeed difficult, even after many years of silence and separation, to write calmly and dispassionately, but this only proves how great was her power, how abiding her influence. There still exists a “cloud of witnesses” who would testify to this truth.
She had once delighted in Martin’s Plains of Heaven, it was so like the realms that had ever haunted her dreams; and to those Plains where flows the pure River of the Water of Life, her spirit must have taken its flight, in Ways of Pleasantness and in Paths of Peace. And there she must be sought by those to whom in this life she-was beyond price, and for whom her true and loyal heart beat with the pulses of the most fervent though silent thought, affection, and devotion.
It is singular that the title of the very last Johnny Ludlow story was Silent for Ever; and this thought concluded the paper. As she did so, she looked up to one who happened to be in the room, and said with a wistful expression never to be forgotten: “My work is almost done. It is certain that I shall never write much more.” Again the words were sadly prophetic, for though her last illness had not then commenced, she had for ever laid down her pen.
Silent for ever in this world it may be, but throughout eternity rejoicing evermore. She had once remarked that if we were permitted to continue our occupations in the next world, nothing would give her greater pleasure than to go on writing books for ever. How that may be cannot be told, since we have no revelation; and so best, without doubt. Sufficient the promise that “in that Fair Land where our hearts abide” failures and unfulfilled desires will be lost in the realisation of all true hopes and aspirations.
Such, then, was Mrs. Henry Wood, so great the loss to those she left behind. The last chapter of Proverbs is true to her in all points: “Her price is far above rubies.... The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her.... She girdeth her loins with strength, and strengtheneth her arms.... Strength and honour are her clothing, and she shall rejoice in time to come.... She openeth her mouth with wisdom, and in her tongue is the law of kindness.... Give her of the fruit of her hands, and let her own works praise her in the gates....
“Her children arise up, and call her blessed.”
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