ple are really very good to me. They not only forgive me for not
taking any part in their conversation, but also for capriciously
interrupting it. In a quiet way they seem even to derive hearty
pleasure from my joy. Especially Juliana. I tell her very little about
you, but she has a good intuition and surmises the rest. Certainly
there is nothing more amiable than pure, unselfish delight in love.

I really believe that I should love my friends here, even if they were
less admirable than they are. I feel a great change in my being, a
general tenderness and sweet warmth in all the powers of my soul and
spirit, like the beautiful exhaustion of the senses that follows the
highest life. And yet it is anything but weakness. On the contrary, I
know that from now on I shall be able to do everything pertaining to
my vocation with more liking and with fresher vigor. I have never felt
more confidence and courage to work as a man among men, to lead a
heroic life, and in joyous fraternal cooeperation to act for eternity.

That is my virtue; thus it becomes me to be like the gods. Yours is
gently to reveal, like Nature's priestess of joy, the mystery of love;
and, surrounded by worthy sons and daughters, to hallow this beautiful
life into a holy festival.

* * * * *

I often worry about your health. You dress yourself too lightly and
are fond of the evening air; those are dangerous habits and are not
the only ones which you must break. Remember that a new order of
things is beginning for you. Hitherto I have praised your frivolity,
because it was opportune and in keeping with the rest of your nature.
I thought it feminine for you to play with Fortune, to flout caution,
to destroy whole masses of your life and environment. Now, however,
there is something that you must always bear in mind, and regard
above everything else. You must gradually train yourself--in the
allegorical sense, of course.

* * * * *

In this letter everything is all mixed up in a motley confusion, just
as praying and eating and rascality and ecstasy are mixed up in life.
Well, good night. Oh, why is it that I cannot at least be with you in
my dreams--be really with you and dream in you. For when I merely
dream of you, I am always alone. You wonder why you do not dream of
me, since you think of me so much. Dearest, do you not also have your
long spells of silence about me?

* *