No one thinks or
talks of anything else. Every face is grave with sorrow for the
suffering and slaughter, and then triumphant with pride and joy at the
incredible heroism of the troops. . . . In his sermon before the last,
Mr. Channing brought out my dearest, inmost doctrines and faith; the
sovereignty of good; the unfallen ideal in man; the impossibility of
God's ever for one moment turning from man, or being averse to him;
the essential transitoriness of evil. . . . I deeply regret that Una and
Julian cannot hear the sermons for the little people, for I think it
would do much towards saving their souls.
My mother's loss in the death of her father was a great grief, which
fell upon her at this time. She wrote to my aunt:--
DEAR ELIZABETH,--If anything could have softened such a blow, it would
have been the divine way in which my husband told me. If a seraph can
look more radiant with love--a flaming love, veiled with most tender,
sorrowing sympathy--than he did, I am sure I cannot conceive of it,
and am quite contented not to. I saw and felt in a moment how beyond
computation and desert I was still rich,--richest. Father's sincerity,
his childlike guilelessness, his good sense and rectitude, his
unaffected piety,--all and each of his qualities made him interesting
to my husband. I really do not believe any one else ever listened to
his stories and his conversation with as much love and interest.
Whatever is real and simple and true attracts my husband both as a
poet and as a man.
Pages:
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277