I am sorry to hear that Mr. Balfour, who has so much that is liberal in him, is of an extreme opposite opinion.  But I feel that I have talked long enough on a subject which may not interest you, but of which I should like to talk to you again when we meet.  It seems to me probable that the Church will be disestablished, because it has been so already in most countries of Europe, and because the school is everywhere taking its place.

I shall look forward to your coming to see me, if I am seriously ill—­“Be with me when my light is low.”  But I don’t think that this illness which I at present have is serious enough to make any of my friends anxious, and it would be rather awkward for my friends to come and take leave of me if I recovered, which I mean to do, for what I think a good reason—­because I still have a good deal to do.

B. Jowett.

My beloved friend died in 1893.

The year before his death he had the dangerous illness to which he alludes in the above letter.  Every one thought he would die.  He dictated farewell letters to all his friends by his secretary and housekeeper, Miss Knight.  On receiveing mine from him at Glen, I was so much annoyed at its tone that I wired: 

Jowett Balliol College Oxford.

I refuse to accept this as your farewell letter to me you have been listening to some silly woman and believing what she says.  Love.  Margot.

This telegram had a magical effect:  he got steadily better and wrote me a wonderful letter.  I remember the reason that I was vexed was because he believed a report that I had knocked up against a foreign potentate in Rotten Row for a bet, which was not only untrue but ridiculous, and I was getting a little impatient of the cattishness and credulity of the West-end of London.

My week-ends at Balliol were different to my other visits.  The Master took infinite trouble over them.  Once on my arrival he asked me which of one or two men I would like to sit next to at dinner.  I said I should prefer Mr. Huxley or Lord Bowen, to which he replied: 

“I would like you to have on your other side, either to-night or to-morrow, my friend Lord Selborne:”  [Footnote:  The late Earl of Selborne.]

Margot (with surprise):  “Since when is he your friend?  I was under the impression you disliked him.”

Jowett:  “Your impression was right, but even the youngest of us are sometimes wrong, as Dr. Thompson said, and I look upon Lord Selborne now as a friend.  I hope I said nothing against him.”

Margot:  “Oh dear no!  You only said he was fond of hymns and had no sense of humour.”

Jowett (snappishly):  “If that is so, Margaret, I made an extremely foolish remark.  I will put you between Lord Bowen and Sir Alfred Lyall.  Was it not strange that you should have said of Lyall to Huxley that he reminded you of a faded Crusader and that you suspected him of wearing a coat of mail under his broadcloth, to which you will remember Huxley remarked, ’You mean a coating of female, without which no man is saved!’ Your sister, Lady Ribblesdale, said the very same thing to me about him.”