an aching heart like
myself it is a relief to slash out at the people who annoy one by being
too correct, or too consciously virtuous. I admit it's wrong, but there
it is. I've prayed for charity and discretion, but my tongue always runs
away with me. And I really can't be bothered with those people who never
say an ill word of anyone. It makes conversation as savourless as
porridge without salt. One needn't talk scandal. I hate scandal--but
there is no harm in remarking on the queer ways of your neighbours:
anyone who likes can remark on mine. Even when you are old and done and
waiting for the summons it isn't wrong surely to get amusement out of
the other pilgrims--if you can. Do you know your _Pilgrim's Progress_,
Pamela? Do you remember where Christiana and the others reach the Land
of Beulah? It is the end of the journey, and they have nothing to do but
to wait, while the children go into the King's gardens and gather there
sweet flowers.... It is all true. I know, for I have reached the Land of
Beulah. 'How welcome is death,' says Bunyan, 'to them that have nothing
to do but to die.' For the last twenty-five years the way has been
pretty hard. I've stumbled along very lamely, followed my Lord on
crutches like Mr. Fearing, but now the end is in sight and I can be at
ease. All these years I have never been able to read the letters and
diaries of my boys--they tore my very heart--but now I can read them
without tears, and rejoice in having had such sons to give. I used to be
tortured by dreams of them, when I thought I held them and spoke to
them, and woke to weep in agony, but now when they come to me I can wake
and smile, satisfied that very soon they will be mine again. Sorrow is a
wonderful thing. It shatters this old earth, but it makes a new heaven.
I can thank God now for taking my boys. Augusta is a saint and
acquiesced from the first, but I was rebellious. I see that Heaven and
myself had part in my boys; now Heaven has all, and all the better is it
for the boys. I hope God will forgive my bitterness, and all the grief I
have given with words. 'No suffering is for the present joyous
... nevertheless afterwards....' When the Great War broke out and the
terrible casualty lists became longer and longer, and 'with rue our
hearts were laden,' I found some of the 'peaceable fruits' we are
promised. I found I could go without impertinence into the house of
mourning, even when I hardly knew the people, and ask them t