it of good.

She brought to the slums of Liverpool the gay cheerfulness of a
University woman, Oxford's particular brand of cheerfulness, and also a
tenderness of sympathy and a graciousness of helpfulness which was the
fine flower of deep, inward, silent, personal religion.

It is not easy for anyone with profound sympathy to believe that
individual Partingtons can sweep back with their little mops of
beneficence and philanthropy the Atlantic Ocean of sin, suffering, and
despair which floods in to the shores of our industrialism--at high tide
nearly swamping its prosperity, and at low tide leaving all its
ugliness, squalor, and despairing hopelessness bare to the eye of
heaven.

Miss Royden looked out for something with a wider sweep, and in the year
1908 joined the Women's Suffrage Movement. It was her hope, her
conviction, that woman's influence in politics might have a cleansing
effect in the national life. She became an advocate of this great
Movement, but an advocate who always based her argument on religious
grounds. She had no delusions about materialistic politics. Her whole
effort was to spiritualise the public life of England.

Here she made a discovery--a discovery of great moment to her subsequent
career. She discovered that many came to her meetings, and sought
personal interviews or written correspondence with her afterwards, who
were not greatly interested in the franchise, but who were interested,
in some tragic cases poignantly interested, in spiritual
enfranchisement. Life revealed itself to her as a struggle between the
higher and lower nature, a conflict in the will between good and evil.
She was at the heart of evolution.

It became evident to Miss Royden that she had discovered for herself
both a constituency and a church. Some years after making this discovery
she abandoned all other work, and ever since, first at the City Temple
and now at the Guildhouse in Eccleston Square, has been one of the most
effective advocates in this country of personal religion.

She does not impress one by the force of her intellect, but rather by
the force of her humanity. You take it for granted that she is a
scholar; you are aware of her intellectual gifts, I mean, only as you
are aware of her breeding. The main impression she makes is one of full
humanity, humanity at its best, humanity that is pure but not
self-righteous, charitable but not sentimental, just but not hard, true
but not mechanical in consis