vel I can. People may think it heartless, but hearts were given us to
love with, not to break." And we must deal with our sorrows as we
deal with any other gift of God, courageously and temperately, not
faint-heartedly or wilfully; not otherwise can they be blest to us. We
must not pettishly reject consolation and distraction. Pain is a
great angel, but we must wrestle with him, until he bless us! and the
blessings he can bring us are first a wholesome shame at our old selfish
ingratitude in the untroubled days, when we took care and pleasure
greedily; and next, if we meet him faithfully, he can make our heart
go out to all our brothers and sisters who suffer in this brief and
troubled life of ours. For we are here to learn something, if we can but
spell it out; and thus it is morbid to indulge regrets and remorse too
much over our failures and mistakes; for it is through them that we
learn. We must be as brave as we can, and dare to grudge no pang that
brings us nearer to the reality of things.

Reality! that is the secret; for we who live in dreams, who pursue
beauty, who are haunted as by a passion for that sweet quality that
thrills alike in the wayside flower and the orange pomp of the setting
sun, that throbs in written word and uttered melody, that calls to
us suddenly and secretly in the glance of an eye and the gesture of a
hand,--we, I say, who discern these gracious motions, tend to live
in them too luxuriously, to idealise life, to make out of our daily
pilgrimage, our goings and comings, a golden untroubled picture; it
need not be a false or a base effort to escape from what is sordid
or distasteful; but for all that we run a sore risk in yielding too
placidly to our visions; and as with the Lady of Shalott, it may be well
for us if our woven web be rent aside, and our magic mirror broken; nay,
even if death comes to us at the close of the mournful song. Thus then
we draw near and look reluctant and dismayed into the bare truth of
things. We see, it may be, our poor pretences tossed aside, and the
embroidered robe in which we have striven to drape our leanness torn
from us; but we must gaze as steadily as we can, and pray that the
vision be not withdrawn till it has wrought its perfect work within us;
and then, with energies renewed, we may set out again on pilgrimage,
happy in this, that we no longer mistake the arbour of refreshment for
the goal of our journey, or the quiet house of welcome, that receives