Reriem of Reriewa, 1110106. 



Character Sketch. 



ALFRED BEIT. 



On a brightly beautiful July afternoon we stood 

 bareheaded round his open grave, which had 

 been dug at the foot of a lofty elm. " Dust to dust, 

 ashes to ashes," said the white-stoled priest, but we 

 saw no earth, and we heard no sound. For the cof- 



Photograph &y] 



[;■■,> •iVcinthal. 



Mr, Beit's Grave. 



tin was heaped high with flowers, dulling the rattle 

 of the earth on the lid. And the grave itself was 

 like a fairy bower. The fourfold face of cold clay 

 was concealed by walls of maidenhair fern, tremu- 

 lously beautiful, studded with white lilies and 

 stately orchids. The grave was tipped with wreaths 

 of white roses and carnations. The coffin rested 

 upon a soft cushion of fern and moss, white-starred 

 with embroidery of flowers. We stood — all but one. 

 She, the aged mother, in stature and appearance not 

 unlike Queen Victoria, although with more classic 

 features, sat at the foot of the grave, supported by 

 the brother of her dead son. 



And as we waited, the white-robed choir broke the 

 silence with the song of peace. 



Peace, perfect peace, in this dark world of ours. 



" Peace, perfect peace,'' peace, perfect peace ! 

 verse after verse soared upward, in apparently un- 

 ending succession, until at last the long Amen fol- 

 lowed the closing words : 



It is enough : earth's struggles soon shall cease. 

 And Jesus call us to Heaven's perfect peace. 



THE GRAVE AND BEYOND. 



It was a strangely beautiful scene, full of pathos 

 and of tragedy too deep for tears. For he whose 

 mortal remains had been laid to rest with comfort- 

 able words of glad assurance of resurrection to eter- 



nal life was one who had known but little of peace 

 in the fifty-three years of his life on earth, nor had 

 he recked much of the life that lay beyond the 

 grave. Interested in it he was ; he had often dis- 

 cussed with me with eager interest the messages 

 from the other side ; he had an open mind and a 

 quick appreciation of the value of the evidence ever 

 accumulating to prove the persistence of the indivi- 

 dual after the change called death ; but he was em- 

 phaticallv a man of this world, one of whom it could 

 not be said that his affections were set on things 

 above, not on things on the earth. 



And now all was over. In the midst of his mani- 

 fold labours, while his mind was still undimmed and 

 his keen spirit bright, he was cut off, and he would 

 be seen no more in the busy marts of men. Here 

 we have no continuing city, and soon all those who 

 mourned round his bier will have followed him 

 across the bar. 



"PEACE. PERFECT PEACE." 



" Peace, perfect peace !" how appropriate to the 

 silent lieauty of the country churchyard of Tewin on 

 the hillside above the pellucid stream whose charms 

 had lured Alfred Beit to Welwyn. " Peace, perfect 

 peace !'' how inappropriate to him in whom there 

 had lieen no peace either for himself or for the world 

 in which he lived. He was a man of restless energy. 

 " Do you never take a rest ?'' Rhodes asked him once 

 at the very beginning of their alliance, when Beit 



Photograph bv] 



l.co. \\\-iifllt,il 



The Church at Welwyn. 



was only a junior partner in the firm of Porges and 

 Co., working all hours late into the night. " Not 

 often," he replied. And as he rested little himself 

 he was not restful to other people. What a contrast 

 this peaceful funeral to other scenes through which 



