to a friend who had asked him
about his religious opinions reveals the same catholicity of mind:--

I am a member of the English Church, and have taken Deacon's
Orders, but did not think fit (for reasons I need not go
into) to take Priest's Orders. My dear father was what is
called a "High Churchman," and I naturally adopted those
views, but have always felt repelled by the yet higher
development called "Ritualism."

But I doubt if I am fully a "High Churchman" now. I find
that as life slips away (I am over fifty now), and the life
on the other side of the great river becomes more and more
the reality, of which _this_ is only a shadow, that the
petty distinctions of the many creeds of Christendom tend to
slip away as well--leaving only the great truths which all
Christians believe alike. More and more, as I read of the
Christian religion, as Christ preached it, I stand amazed at
the forms men have given to it, and the fictitious barriers
they have built up between themselves and their brethren. I
believe that when you and I come to lie down for the last
time, if only we can keep firm hold of the great truths
Christ taught us--our own utter worthlessness and His
infinite worth; and that He has brought us back to our one
Father, and made us His brethren, and so brethren to one
another--we shall have all we need to guide us through the
shadows.

Most assuredly I accept to the full the doctrines you refer
to--that Christ died to save us, that we have no other way
of salvation open to us but through His death, and that it
is by faith in Him, and through no merit of ours, that we
are reconciled to God; and most assuredly I can cordially
say, "I owe all to Him who loved me, and died on the Cross
of Calvary."

He spent the Long Vacation at Eastbourne as usual, frequently walking
over to Hastings, which is about twenty miles off. A good many of his
mornings were spent in giving lectures and telling stories at schools.

A letter to the widow of an old college friend reveals the
extraordinary sensitiveness of his nature:--

2, Bedford Well Road, Eastbourne,

_August_ 2, 1897.

My Dear Mrs. Woodhouse,--Your letter, with its mournful
news, followed me down here, and I only got it on Saturday
night; so I was not able to be with you in thought when the
mortal remains of my dear o