Dear Theo (Ch 1.3)

Isleworth, July, 1876

I write between lessons. In school the gas is flickering and one hears the cheerful sound of the boys learning their lessons; from time to time one of them begins to hum the tune of some hymn, and in me there is something of the 'old faith.'

Last Saturday week, I made another long trip to London. In the morning I left here at four o'clock; it was beautiful in the park with the dark avenues of elm trees and the wet road through it; and a grey rainy sky over it all; in the distance there was a thunderstorm.

In London I visited some friends and was also at the gallery of Messrs. Goupil and Company, and saw there the drawings that Van Iterson had brought with him, and it was delightful to see once more the Dutch towns and meadows in that way. That picture by Artz, the 'Mill on the Canal,' I think very fine.

I wish you could have seen those London streets when the twilight began to fall and the lamps were lit, and everybody went home; everything showed that it was Saturday night, and in all that bustle there was peace; one felt the need of and the excitement at the approaching Sunday. Oh, those Sundays, it is such a comfort for those poor districts and crowded streets.

I heard there about a position that perhaps might do for me sometime. The clergymen at seaports such as Liverpool and Hull often want assistants who can speak several languages, to work among the sailors and foreigners and also to visit the sick; some salary would be attached to such a position.

It was delightful to take a long walk once more. Here at school they walk very little. When I think of my life full of struggle in Paris last year, and compare it with this, where I sometimes do not get out of doors the whole day, I sometimes think, when shall I get back to that other world? If I go back to it, it will be probably in other work than last year. But I think I prefer teaching Bible history to the boys to walking; one feels more or less safe in doing so. No day passes without praying to God and without speaking about God. At present my speaking about Him isn't much, but with God's help and blessing, it will become better.

You asked me if I still teach the boys; generally I do until one o'clock in the afternoon, and then after one o'clock I go out for Mr. Jones, or sometimes give lessons to Mr. Jones's children or to a few boys in town. And then in the evening and between times I write in my sermon book.

Mr. Jones has promised me that I shall not have to teach so much in the future, but that I may work more in his parish, visiting the people, talking with them.

Tomorrow I shall get for a second time some small salary for my new work, and with it buy a pair of new boots and a new hat. I cannot tell you how glad I am that Mr. Jones has promised to give me work in his parish, so that I shall find by and by what I want.

It will soon be winter now. I am so glad that Christmas comes in winter. May God give us a happy meeting then. I should like so much to see my mother again and to see Father and to speak with him. How little we see of each other and how little we see of our parents, and yet so strong is the family feeling and our love for each other that the heart uplifts itself and the eye turns to God and prays: 'Do not let me stray too far from them, not too far, O Lord.'

Theo, your brother preached for the first time, last Sunday, in God's dwelling, of which is written, 'In this place, I will give peace.'

It was a clear autumn day and a beautiful walk from here to Richmond, along the Thames, in which the great chestnut trees with their load of yellow leaves and the clear blue sky were mirrored, and through he tops of the trees one could see that part of Richmond which lies on the hill.

When I was standing in the pulpit, I felt as it, emerging from a dark cave under ground, I had come back to the friendly daylight, and it is a delightful thought that in the future wherever I shall be, I shall preach the Gospel; to do that well, one must have the Gospel in one's heart; may the Lord give it to me.

It seems to me I have grown years older in these few months.

The 'Imitation of Christ' is a splendid book that gives much light. It expresses so well how good it is to fight the Holy Strife for duty, and the great joy given by being charitable and by doing one's duty well.

It is true that every day has its own evil, and its good too. But how difficult must life be, especially farther on when the evil of each day increases as far as worldly thins go, if it is not strengthened and comforted by faith. And in Christ all worldly things may become better, and, as it were, sanctified.

Theo, woe is me if I do not preach the Gospel; if I did not aim at that and posses faith and hope in Christ, it would be bad for me indeed, but now I have some courage.

Last Sunday I was early at Turnham Green to teach in Sunday school; it was a real English rainy day. On weekdays I have to work up interest for the Sunday school; there are children enough, but the difficulty is to get them together regularly. Mr. Jones and his boys and I went in the afternoon to take tea with the sexton.

Tomorrow I must be in the two remotest parts of London, in Whitechapel, that very poor part about which you have read in Dickens; and then across the Thames in a little steamer to Lewisham.

Last Thursday Mr. Jones made me take his turn. I went to Acton Green, that grass plot which I saw from the sexton's window. It was very muddy there, but it was a beautiful sight when it grew dark and the fog began to rise and one saw the light of a little church in the middle of the plain.

One Sunday I had to go in the evening to Petersham, to a Methodist church. I told the congregation that they would hear bad English, but that when I spoke I thought of the man in the parable who said, 'Have patience with me and I will pay you everything.'

While I sit writing to you in my little room, and it is so quiet and I look at your portraits and the prints on the wall: 'Christus Consolator,' and 'Good Friday,' and 'Women Visiting the Tomb,' and 'The Old Huguenot'; 'The Prodigal So' b Ary Scheffer, and 'A Little Boat on a Stormy Sea'; and -- and when I think of you all and of everything here, of Turham Green, Richmond and Petersham, then I feel: 'O Lord, make me my father's brother. Finish Thy work in me that Thou hast begun.'

Shall we go together with some church some day, being sorrowful but always happy, with an eternal joy in our hearts because we are the poor in the Kingdom of God?

A few days ago Mr. Braat from Dordt came to visit Uncle Vincent, and they talked about me, and Uncle asked Mr. Braat if he had a place for me in his business, if I should want it. Mr. Braat thought so, and said that I must come and talk it over. So I went there early yesterday morning. We arranged that I should come for a week after New Year to try it out, and after that we can see. There are many things that make it desirable, the being back in Holland near Father and Mother, and also near you and all the others. Then the salary would certainly be better than at Mr. Jones's, and it is one's duty to think of that, because later in life a man needs more.

How often we have longed to be together, and how dreadful is the feeling of being far from each other in times of illness or car, and then the feeling that want of the necessary money might be an obstacle to coming together in time of need.

As to the religious work, I still do not give it up. Father is so broad-minded and so many-sided, and I hope in whatever circumstances I may be, something of that will unfold in me. The change will be that, instead of teaching boys, I shall work in a bookshop.

So it is quite possible that I shall go there.