Even the lime could not cover the smell of death as Constance stepped off the train platform on August 20, 1878. The wind carried the odor for three miles outside of the city. Sister Constance and Sister Thecla returned from a vacation on the Hudson as soon as they heard the news of the fever; the sisters were the only ones traveling into Memphis. As they made their way through the town, signs of plague were everywhere. . . . “What we’ve decided to do is have you sleep in the country, out of the infected atmosphere,” explained one of the sisters from St. Mary’s. “You can work in town during the day.” Constance and Thecla refused. “We cannot listen to such a plan; it would never do; we are going to nurse day and night; we must be at our post.” . . .

The messenger handed Constance the telegram. Father and mother are lying dead in the house, brother is dying, send me some help, no money, signed Sallie U. “Will you go to that poor girl?” he asked. . . .

Constance arrived at a small but neat home. . . . A pretty young girl in mourning led her into the house. Dust floated, effulgent, in the shafts of afternoon light, and the air was heavy as steam. One corpse lay on the sofa, another one on the bed, their skin yellow and tongues black. A tall young man, nearly naked, was also in the bed, delirious, rocking back and forth. His eyes sank deep into his cheekbones ringed by bruised half moons. Outside the window, Constance heard a crowd gathering, presumably to loot the house once all were dead. Constance ran into the yard and shouted at them to leave, warned them of the plague. They scattered like insects in the sunlight.

The healthy were not permitted to touch the dead for fear of spreading the disease further, so Constance sent for an undertaker. But, it could take as long as two days to have the bodies removed. Mr. Walsh, the county undertaker, refused to pay extra wages to the colored men loading and unloading the bodies. Finally, he was arrested. From then on, the men were promised five dollars for an adult corpse, three dollars for a child. In the meantime, the Citizen’s Relief Committee arranged burial patrols to locate bodies by report, smell or even the low flight of buzzards. . . .

Constance left the small house sick from the stench. The air, suffused with moisture, closed the odor of death around the town and its people. She went in search of more nurses and beef tea for the ill. As she did so, she noticed a spectacular sun, a blood orange setting over the Mississippi. How strange, she thought, that one could still find anything beautiful at all.

From The American Plague: The Untold Story of Yellow Fever, the Epidemic that Shaped Our History by Molly Caldwell Crosby (New York: Berkley Publishing Group, 2006).

I have been and am still inspired by the natural sciences; and yet I do not think that I shall make them my principal field of study. By virtue of reason and freedom, life has always interested me most, and it has always been my desire to clarify and solve the riddle of life. The forty years in the desert before I could reach the promised land of the sciences seem too costly to me, and the more so as I believe that nature may also be observed from another side, which does not require insight into the secrets of science. It matters not whether I contemplate the whole world in a single flower or listen to the many hints that nature offers about human life; whether I admire those daring designs in the firmament; or whether, upon hearing the sounds of nature in Ceylon, for example, I am reminded of the sounds of the spiritual world; or whether the departure of the migratory birds reminds me of the most profound yearnings of the human heart. . . .

What I really need is to get clear about what I am to do, not what I must know, except insofar as knowledge must precede every act. What matters is to find my purpose, to see what it really is that God wills that I shall do; the crucial thing is to find a truth that is truth for me, to find the idea for which I am willing to live and die. Of what use would it be to me to discover a so-called objective truth, to work through the philosophical systems so that I could, if asked, make critical judgments about them, could point out the fallacies in each system; . . . of what use would it be to me to be able to formulate the meaning of Christianity, to be able to explain many specific points—if it had no deeper meaning for me and for my life? . . . I certainly do not deny that I still accept an imperative of knowledge and that through it men may be influenced, but then it must come alive in me, and this is what I now recognize as the most important of all. This is what my soul thirsts for as the African deserts thirst for water. That is what is lacking, and this is why I am like a man who has collected furniture, rented an apartment, but as yet has not found the beloved to share life’s ups and downs with him.

From the early journal entries (1835) of Søren Kierkegaard, quoted in The Essential Kierkegaard, edited by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2000).

The most effective work of the Society among Negroes of the Northern colonies was accomplished in New York. In that colony, the instruction of the Negro and Indian slaves to prepare them for conversion, baptism, and communion was a primary charge oft repeated to every missionary and schoolmaster of the Society. In addition to the general efforts put forth in the colonies, there was in New York a special provision for the employment of sixteen clergymen and thirteen lay teachers mainly for the evangelization of the slaves and the free Indians. For the Negro slaves a catechizing school was opened in New York City in 1704 under the charge of Elias Neau. This benevolent man, after several years’ imprisonment because of his Protestant faith, had come to New York to try his fortunes as a trader. As early as 1703 he called the attention of the Society to the great number, of slaves in New York “who were without God in the world, and of whose souls there was no manner of care taken” and proposed the appointment of a catechist to undertake their instruction. He himself finally being prevailed upon to accept this position, obtained a license from the Governor, resigned his position as elder in the French church and conformed to the Established Church of England, “not upon any worldly account but through a principle of conscience and hearty approbation of the English liturgy.” He was later licensed by the Bishop of London.

Neau’s task was not an easy one. At first he went from house to house, but afterwards arranged for some of the slaves to attend him. He succeeded, however, in obtaining gratifying results. He was commended to the Society by Rev. Mr. Vesey in 1706 as a “constant communicant of our church, and a most zealous and prudent servant of Christ, in proselyting the miserable Negroes and Indians among them to the Christian Religion, whereby he does great service to God and his church.” Further confidence in him was attested by an act of the Society in preparing at his request “a Bill to be offered to Parliament for the more effectual Conversion of the Negro and other Servants in the Plantations, to compell Owners of Slaves to cause children to be baptized within 3 months after their birth and to permit them when come to years of discretion to be instructed in the Christian Religion on our Lord’s day by the Missionaries under whose ministry they live.”

Neau’s school suffered greatly in 1712 because of the prejudice engendered by the declaration that instruction was the main cause of the Negro riot in that city. For some days Neau dared not show himself, so bitter was the feeling of the masters. Upon being assured, however, that only one Negro connected with the school had participated in the affair and that the most criminal belonged to the masters who were openly opposed to educating them, the institution was permitted to continue its endeavors, and the Governor extended to it his protection and recommended that masters have their slaves instructed. Yet Neau had still to complain thereafter of the struggle and opposition of the generality of the inhabitants, who were strongly prejudiced with a horrid motive thinking that Christian knowledge “would be a means to make the slave more cunning and apter to wickedness.” Not so long thereafter, however, the support of the best people and officials of the community made his task easier. Neau could say in 1714 that “if the slaves and domestics in New York were not instructed it was not his fault.” The Governor, the Council, Mayor, the Recorder and the Chief Justice informed the Society that Neau had performed his work “to the great advancement of religion in general and the particular benefit of the free Indians, Negro slaves, and other Heathens in those parts, with indefatigable zeal and application.”

From “The Work of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts among the Negroes in the Colonies” by C. E. Pierre, in Journal of Negro History 1 (October 1916); found at http://www.dinsdoc.com/pierre-1.htm

It hangs in the window of one of the little cash-and-carry stores that now line a street where fashionable New Yorkers used to drive out in their carriages to shop at Tiffany’s and Constable’s. It is a “supper dress” of silk crepe in “the new red,” with medieval sleeves and graceful skirt. A cardboard tag on the shoulder reads: “Special $4.95.” Bargain basements and little ready-to-wear shops are filled with similar “specials.”

But the manufacturer who pays a living wage for a reasonable week’s work under decent conditions cannot turn out attractive silk frocks to retail at $5 or less. The real cost is borne by the workers in the sweatshops that are springing up in hard-pressed communities. Under today’s desperate need for work and wages, girls and women are found toiling overtime at power machines and worktables, some of them for paychecks that represent a wage of less than 10 cents a day.

The sweatshop employer is offending against industry’s standards, as well as against the standards of the community. The employer who, in order to pay fair wages for reasonable hours of work, produces dresses in his shop to retail at $9.50, finds himself in competition with the less conscientious manufacturer whose “sweated” garments are offered at $4.95. . . .

Working conditions, including safety provisions, sanitation, rest room facilities and so on, are, like standards of wages and hours, holding up well in responsible concerns. In the runaway shop conditions are usually far below standard and the picture of such a plant is a look back to the sweatshops that horrified caseworkers and visiting nurses at the turn of the century.

What is the way out for the conscientious consumer who does not want to buy garments, even at a bargain, made by exploited labor? Common sense will tell the purchaser that someone must pay the price of the well-cut silk dress offered at $4.95. The manufacturer is not producing these frocks for pleasure or for charity. If the purchaser does not pay a price that allows for a subsistence wage and reasonable hours and working conditions, then the cost of the “bargain” must be sweated out of the workers.

The red silk bargain dress in the shop window is a danger signal. It is a warning of the return of the sweatshop, a challenge to us all to reinforce the gains we have made in our long and difficult progress toward a civilized industrial order.

From “The Cost of a Five-Dollar Dress” by Frances Perkins, in the Survey Graphic (February 1933).

I heard his holy voice speaking to all without distinction. “He who does not leave father and mother and brothers and all that he possesses and take up his cross and follow me is not worthy of me.” I learned from Scripture and from experience itself that the cross comes at the end for no other reason than that we must endure trials and tribulations and finally voluntary death itself. In times past, when heresies prevailed, many chose death through martyrdom and various tortures. Now, when we through the grace of Christ live in a time of profound and perfect peace, we learn for sure that cross and death consist in nothing else than the complete putting to death of self-will. He who pursues his own will, however slightly, will never be able to observe the law of Christ the Savior.

From the Discourses of Symeon the New Theologian, quoted in Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture: New Testament III, Luke, edited by Arthur A. Just, Jr. (Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 2003).

In the first place, let me say that I, as a loyal citizen, am whole-heartedly for this country of ours in which all my hopes and ideals and interests are bound up. I believe most sincerely that German brutality and aggression must be stopped, and I am willing, if need to be, to give my life and what I possess, to bring that about. I want to see the extension of real democracy in the world, and am ready to help that cause to the utmost; and finally, I want to see a sound and lasting peace brought to the world as a close to the terrible convulsion in which the nations are involved.

But the question is that of method. It is not enough to say that the majority have decided on war as the only means of attaining those things and therefore we must all co-operate. I believe it is not as easy as that, for the problem goes deeper.

We all feel that war is wrong, evil, and undesirable. Many even feel that war is unchristian but unavoidable as the world is now constituted, and that the present situation forces us to use it. Some contend that this is a righteous war, and that we must all fight the devil with fire, even at the danger of being scorched, or all the ideals which we hold dear will go by the board, and therefore we are solemnly, sadly, and earnestly taking that way. . . .

I have been led to feel that war is entirely incompatible with the Christian profession . . . because the deeper I study into it the more firmly I am convinced that the whole spirit of the gospel is not only opposed to all that is commonly understood by the word “war,” but offers another method capable of transforming the world and applicable to every situation which the individual or the nation is called to face. . . . I believe that it is always the church’s duty to hold up before men the way of the cross; the one way our Lord has given us for overcoming the world. . . .

Prayer is, I believe, the best test of the whole matter. If it is right and our honest duty to fight the war to a finish, then we should use the Church’s great weapon of prayer to that end; but the most ardent Christian supporter of the war, though he may use general terms, revolts against praying that our every bullet may find its mark, or that our embargoes may bring starvation to every German home. We know that those things would bring the war to a speedy, triumphant close, but the Church cannot pray that way. And a purpose that you cannot pray for is a poor one for Christians to be engaged in.

From a statement made to the House of Bishops by Bishop Paul Jones on October 18, 1917, quoted in Documents of Witness: A History of the Episcopal Church 1782-1985, edited by Don S. Armentrout and Robert Boak Slocum. Copyright © 1984. Used by permission of Church Publishing Incorporated, New York, NY. www.churchpublishing.org

In 1833, many Americans still supported slavery. Many others hated both slavery and abolitionists. They thought slavery was evil but feared that giving immediate freedom to millions of poor, uneducated black slaves might hurt the U.S. economy, flood the country with beggars and criminals, and cause a serious break between the North and the South. So few white Americans supported the abolitionist cause that in 1831 only twenty-five of Garrison’s five hundred subscribers to the Liberator were white. Things were so bad that sometimes, in low moments, Garrison must have felt that he was trying to change the world single-handedly. When a friend urged him to “keep more cool,” the editor explained, “I . . . need to be all on fire, for I have mountains of ice . . . to melt.”

To melt those mountains, Garrison needed allies, and Prudence was ready, willing, and able to help. Besides, she was a teacher.

That was particularly important. If black people were ever going to win equal rights and good jobs in America, they needed education. Garrison and his supporters knew that. But African Americans found that learning was very hard to come by. So few U.S. schools and colleges were willing to teach black pupils that in 1865, when the Civil War ended, only one out of every twenty African Americans could read.

In the 1830s, southerners were so afraid that educated blacks might rebel against slavery that they passed laws against teaching African Americans. . . . In the North, where many feared that educated blacks might take jobs from white workers, black children were seldom allowed to enter white schools. White teachers rarely taught black pupils, and schools for African Americans were scarce. . . .

Prudence was planning to do something about this terrible problem. Not only was she planning to open a school for African-American girls, but she was offering to teach advanced grammar, math, and science—the sorts of subjects that would eventually allow her black students to teach other African-American pupils. It was like a dream come true. Garrison was enthusiastic. He wanted to help.

From Forbidden Schoolhouse by Suzanne Jurmain (New York: Houghton Mifflin, 2005).

Whether on the battle front, or in desolate displacement camps, believers experience the numinous, healing, recreating presence of God. God is unreservedly the God of salvation revealed in the One who has passed through death and now abides among his people. The diversity of this Church is both its strength and its weakness, its hidden wealth, and its fragmentation. We close with an acclamation from one of Sudan’s most popular vernacular hymns:

Let us give thanks.
Let us give thanks to the Lord in the day of devastation;
and in the day of contentment.

Jesus has bound the world round
with the pure light of the word of his Father.

When we beseech the Lord and unite our hearts and have hope,
then the evil power has no strength.
God has not forgotten us.

Evil is departing and holiness is advancing,
these are the things that shake the earth.

From “Death has Come to Reveal the Faith: Spirituality in the Episcopal Church of the Sudan Amidst Civil Conflict” by Marc Nikkel, in Anglicanism: A Global Communion, edited by Andrew Wingate, Kevin Ward, Carrie Pemberton, and Wilson Sitshebo. Copyright © 1998. Used by permission of Church Publishing Incorporated, New York, NY.www.churchpublishing.org

The end of the four day covered wagon journey brought the Missionaries to Darlington, the Cheyenne and Arapaho Agency, arriving on Tuesday, June 14, 1881. It was a homecoming of sorts for Oakerhater. Darlington was where he had been sentenced to prison by Lt. Col. Neill’s command of “strike off eighteen from the right.” He was a different man now.

Eager to return to their people, Paul Zotom, the Kiowa Deacon, and Henry Taawayite, the Comanche Deacon, resumed their journey, realizing their homecoming a few days later. Reverend Wicks stayed at Darlington hoping to start their mission immediately. Which they did. On the same day that Zotom and Taawayite left for the Kiowa and Comanche Agency in Anadarko, Oakerhater performed the first Christian funeral service by a Cheyenne ever known among the Cheyennes. The whole management of the service for the son of Big Horse was given over to him and the funeral was conducted after the forms of the Episcopal Church.

As irony would have it, at the time of Oakerhater’s arrival in the Indian Territory the Cheyenne were in the midst of their Sun Dance celebration. Oakerhater was well aware of the Sun-Dance and its meaning. He understood the significance of the event and its importance to his people. He fully understood what the Missionaries were up against introducing the white man’s “new road” at this particular moment in time. . . .

It had been decided that the first service would be held on the coming Sunday. . . . Wicks described this initial meeting as follows: “When I reached the place at the appointed hour I found some fifty young men and a few older ones assembled, with quite a number of women. These young men were the very ones whom David had led in war seven years ago, and were dressed in the gay attire appropriate to the great feast. Right below us a few hundred yards away, the medicine dance was going on, hundreds thronging every side of the great lodge, a striking contrast to our quiet Christian talk. David seated his people in a circle and led me to the center of it to open the talk. I told David to say first to them that we would look to God for His blessing. They all bowed their heads reverently in the prayer as though trained to it for years. David acted as interpreter, I began by telling them why I had come to them, who had sent me, and what we wished to do for them. Then one of the Chiefs, Sand Hill, stepped forward and thanked me, expressing the desire to be taught the good way; another Chief, Mad Wolf, followed in the same strain. David then addressed them briefly, and our first council closed. I invited them to service at the school-house on a Sunday morning and they promised to come.”

Oakerhater’s brief message to his people was delivered in Cheyenne. Oakerhater told them: “Men, you all know me. You remember me when I led you out to war I went first and what I told you was true. Now I have been away to the East and I have learned about another captain, the Lord Jesus Christ, and He is my leader. He goes first, and all He tells me is true. I come back to my people to tell you to go with me now in this new road, a war that makes all for peace, and where we never have only victory.”

From He Goes First: The Story of Episcopal Saint David Pendleton Oakerhater by K. B. Kueteman; found at http://digital.library.okstate.edu/Oakerhater/bio.html

On another occasion, Cuthbert was invited to worship with the community of men and women at the abbey of Coldingham, where Ebba was abbess. This monastery stood high on the cliffs overlooking the North Sea from which Lindisfarne could be seen far away in the south. One night, seeking time for quiet prayer, Cuthbert climbed down the cliffs, secretly followed by one of the brothers who was curious to see what he was up to. He saw Cuthbert wade into the sea until the water was up to his neck: there, with arms outstretched, he spent the night giving praise to God and singing to the sound of the waves. At daybreak, he returned to shore and began to pray again, kneeling on the beach. While he was doing this, two otters ran out of the sea and rubbed themselves against his legs and feet as if to dry them. Cuthbert blessed the creatures, before making his way to the monastic church for the singing of the canonical hymns at their appointed hour.

The watching monk was now filled with fear. He had been privileged to see something special but he was sure Cuthbert was aware of his spying. He approached Cuthbert, stretched himself on the ground and asked for forgiveness. “What is the matter, brother? What have you done? Have you been spying on me in my nightly vigil?” The poor man was too fearful to respond. Cuthbert then said, “Brother, you are forgiven but on one condition: that you promise to tell no one of this until after my death.” The promise was given and Cuthbert blessed the brother. After Cuthbert died, he told as many people as he could.

From The Holy Island of Lindisfarne by David Adam. Copyright © 2009. Used by permission of Morehouse Publishing, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. www.morehousepublishing.com

Many good Christian people will say about this or like correspondences, “What a pity it is that clergymen should indulge in such discussions. It does no good. It does not convince anyone. It only widens the breach between Christians. It arouses hot, perhaps angry, feelings. It disturbs the peace of the inner life. Let us live together in peace, without fault-finding criticisms!”

There is much of truth in all this. To a devout person, a controversy is always a painful matter. The divisions in Christendom must be weakening to Christianity, and painful to our Lord. But we must remember that, as each one must, as St. Paul declares, give a reason for the faith that is in him, the duty of investigation rests upon all. Our Lord bade His hearers search the Scriptures, and see if these things He taught were so. It will not therefore do for us, any more than for the Jews, to say we were brought up in a certain faith, and therefore will not inquire. Whatever the Holy Spirit has taught us by experience, as for instance our conversion, if a Methodist, or the Real Presence, if a Roman Catholic, we should not reopen. But many questions which divide Christendom, we should, in the spirit of charity, be willing to investigate.

Ought we not at least to try to understand one another? Sad as are the divisions of Christians, is it not likely that each body stands for some truth or practice, which has either been overlooked, or disproportionately stated? In the love of Christ which should bind all Christians together, we should strive, not to exaggerate, but to minimize our differences. We must remember that all who are baptized are members of Christ, and so of His Church. And as the Holy Spirit, given to all at Pentecost, dwells in the whole body, we ought to be willing to learn from one another.

From “An Eirenicon, or Olive-Branch”: A Correspondence between the Rt. Rev. Bishop of Fond du Lac and the Rector of St. Patrick’s Church, Fond du Lac (Fond du Lac: The Daily Commonwealth, 1909).

This book will make a traveller of thee,
If by its counsels thou wilt ruled be;
It will direct thee to the Holy Land,
If thou wilt its directions understand:
Yea, it will make the slothful active be;
The blind also delightful things to see.

Art thou for something rare and profitable?
Wouldest thou see a truth within a fable?
Art thou forgetful? Wouldest thou remember
From New-year’s day to the last of December?
Then read my fancies: they will stick like burs.
And may be, to the helpless, comforters.

This book was writ in such a dialect,
As may the minds of listless men affect:
It seems a novelty, and yet contains
Nothing but sound and honest gospel strains.

Wouldst thou divert thyself from melancholy?
Wouldst thou be pleasant, yet be far from folly?
Wouldst thou read riddles and their explanation?
Or else be drowned in thy contemplation?
Dost thou love picking meat? Or wouldst thou see
A man in the clouds, and hear him speak to thee?
Wouldst thou be in a dream, and yet not sleep?
Or wouldst thou in a moment laugh and weep?
Wouldest thou lose thyself and catch no harm,
And find thyself again without a charm?
Wouldst read thyself, and read thou knowest not what,
And yet know whether thou art blest or not,
By reading these same lines? Oh then come hither,
And lay my book, thy head, and heart together.

From the Author’s Apology to The Pilgrim’s Progress from this World to that which is to Come by John Bunyan (New York: Robert Carter, 1876).

If the listeners are to be moved rather than instructed, so as not to become sluggish in acting upon what they know, and so as to give a real assent to things they admit are true, more forceful kinds of speaking are called for. Here what is necessary is words that implore, that rebuke, that stir, that check, and whatever other styles may avail to move the audience’s minds and spirits. Some people, of course, do it all in a dull, unattractive, and cold sort of way, while others do it with wit, elegance, and feeling. In any case, those who can speak and discuss things wisely, even though they cannot do so eloquently, must now undertake the task we are concerned with in such a way as to benefit their listeners. Beware, on the other hand, of those whose unwisdom has a flood of eloquence at its command, and all the more so, the more their audience takes pleasure in things it is profitless to hear, and assumes that because they hear them speaking fluently, they are also speaking the truth. . . .

Precisely this is eloquence, then, in the matter of teaching: to ensure, not that what was thought repellent should be found to be pleasing, or that something disliked should still be done, but that a point that was obscure or simply missed should be indicated and cleared up. If this is done, however, in a disagreeable way, only a few listeners will get any profit from it, and those the most serious, who are eager to know what there is to be learned, however dismally and crudely it is expressed. When they have attained this object, they feed enjoyably on truth itself; it is indeed the characteristic trait of good minds and dispositions to love in words what is true, not the words themselves.

What, after all, is the use of a golden key if it cannot open what we want, or what is wrong with a wooden key if it can, since all we are looking for is that closed doors should be opened to us? But yes, there is a certain similarity between feeding and learning; so because so many people are fussy and fastidious, even those foodstuffs without which life cannot be supported need their pickles and spices.

From The Uses of Rhetoric by Augustine of Hippo, quoted in Richard Lischer, ed., The Company of Preachers: Wisdom on Preaching, Augustine to the Present (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2002).

Mr. Syle was born, November 9th, 1846, in Shanghai, China, where his father was stationed as a missionary. When in his fifth year, he was sent to America, on account of his health. At the age of six, he lost his hearing from scarlet fever. His education, which was carried on in the private school of Mr. D. E. Bartlett, at Trinity College, Hartford, Conn., and at St. John’s College, Cambridge, England, was interrupted more than once, and by various causes; but whenever he studied, he won high distinction. He took his Bachelor’s degree at Yale, in 1869, by the unusual and very trying course of presenting himself for a vigorous written examination in all the branches of the four years’ curriculum, which he passed with the highest credit. For five years, he taught in the New York Institution for the Instruction of the Deaf and Dumb, pursuing meanwhile a course of professional study in the Columbia College School of Mines.

Leaving New York, he received an appointment as assayer in the Philadelphia Mint, and, while holding this position, pursued a course of theological study, preparing himself for the ministry of the Protestant Episcopal Church, in which he was ordained priest in 1887. He resigned his position at the Mint, to devote himself to religions work among the deaf, and, as the nucleus of this work, he gathered a congregation which, under his ministrations, grew into an independent church. His field of labor expanded in many directions, until his time and strength, freely expended, were largely overdrawn, and an attack of the epidemic influenza found him with no vital force left to resist its attack. . . .

It is not too much to say, that in point of scholarship and literary culture he was easily first among the deaf persons of this country, and perhaps of the world. Every ambition common to noble minds he shared—the love of distinction, the consuming thirst for knowledge, the desire for association with his intellectual peers; but his crowning glory is this, that he unhesitatingly sacrificed every one of these, as well as all less exalted aims, whenever they conflicted with the ruling purpose of his life. . . . As philanthropy underlay his studies, his social activities and his professional work, so a sincere but unostentatious piety inspired and pervaded his philanthropy. No more brilliant intellect, no more strenuous will, no purer soul has ever adorned our profession.

From a paper presented by Professor Weston Jenkins on the life of Henry Winter Syle, in Proceedings of the Eleventh National Convention of American Instructors of the Deaf, held at Berkeley, California, July 1886.

I feel like writing you a rather bracing, disagreeable, east-windy sort of letter. When I read yours my first impulse was to send you a line begging you only to let yourself alone. Don’t keep on pulling yourself to pieces: and please burn that dreadful book with the list of your past sins! If the past really oppresses you, you had far better go to confession, and finish that chapter once and for all! It is emphatically your business now to look forwards and not backwards: and also to look forwards in an eager and optimistic spirit. Any other course is mere ingratitude, you know. . . .

Your responsibility ends when you have made sure that you are honest in will and intention, and are doing your best. There are no unbearable responsibilities in this world but those of our own seeking. Once life is realized as a succession of acts of loving service, undertaken in a spirit of joy, all that moonshine vanishes. . . .

People seem often to forget that Hope is a cardinal virtue necessary to salvation like Faith and Love: an active principle which ought to dominate life. I do think it would be so much better if you would go on quite simply and trustfully for a bit. After all, we value far more in our human relationships the sort of love that gives itself joyously and eagerly without introspection than the sort which is perpetually occupied with its own unworthiness or shortcomings.

From a letter to a friend dated May 30, 1907, in The Letters of Evelyn Underhill, edited with an introduction by Charles Williams (Westminster, Md.: Christian Classics, 1943).