The Henson Journals

[143]

Septuagesima, February 12th, 1922.

Hard frost, & bright sun. I celebrated the Holy Communion in the chapel, & then, after breakfast, settled down to prepare an address to the men of Chester–le–Street this afternoon. I took my subject from Ferrero's book, & opened my address with a quotation from its pages – "The present position and prospects of Christianity". It gave me material for a discourse which lasted for 3/4 of an hour, and was closely listened to by a congregation of men, which fairly filled the church. The Congregational Minister read the lesson, & the rector conducted the short service: Both going to Chester–le–Street, and returning therefrom I sate with William, and had much talk with him. We have certainly become very close friends: may Heaven bless the friendship! The fineness of the afternoon, and the absence of wind made motoring very pleasant in spite of the cold. After dinner I wrote to Gilbert Simpson, George Nimmins, and Cecil Fortescue. It is, perhaps, a question worth asking, whether it is really worth while to keep in touch with the boys, whose love one wins. Gilbert is my Godson, and there may be in that circumstance a sufficient reason why I should maintain correspondence with him: but I have no other link with George than that which his own loyal devotion to me constitutes: and as to Cecil Fortescue, he is just a young clergyman of Anglo–Catholick proclivities who came into contact with me when I was Bishop of Hereford, & elected to form a kind of attachment to my person! Sometimes I incline to think that this kind of correspondence is the abjectest waste of time: and sometimes my thoughts take the opposite direction, & I conclude that the most really valuable work I do, – is keeping alive a friendship with these young men. It is melancholy to recall the names of many with whom I have not been able to keep touch, & who once saw light in my light. 'Some in the tumult are lost.' It is odd to see myself described as a cold 'logic–machine', heartless & without feeling for anything but the "gaudia certaminis", and to know, not only that beyond most men I desire and depend on the affection of others, but also that, in perhaps an unusual degree, I evoke & retain the devotion of young men. We are all mimes and masques in this world.