the power of translating and
expressing emotion and beauty, that the danger is of losing proportion,
of subordinating everything to the personal value of experience. From
this danger, which is only too plain to me, I humbly desire to escape;
it is all the more dangerous when one has the power, as I am aware I
have, of entering swiftly and easily into intimate personal relations
with people; one is so apt, in the pleasure of observing, of
classifying, of scrutinising varieties of temperament, to use that
power only to please and amuse oneself. What one ought to aim at is not
the establishment of personal influence, not the perverted sense of
power which the consciousness of a hold over other lives gives one, but
to share such good things as one possesses, to assist rather than to
sway.

Well, it is all in the hands of God; again and again one returns to
that, as the bird after its flight in remote fields returns to the
familiar tree, the branching fastness. One should learn, I am sure, to
live for the day and in the day; not to lose oneself in anxieties and
schemes and aims; not to be overshadowed by distant terrors and far-off
hopes, but to say, "To-day is given me for my own; let me use it, let
me live in it." One's immediate duty is happily, as a rule, clear
enough. "Do the next thing," says the old shrewd motto.

The bells cease in the tower, leaving a satisfied stillness. The fire
winks and rustles in the grate; a faint wind shivers and rustles down
the garden paths, sighing for the dawn. I grow weary.

Herbert, I must say "Good-night." God keep and guard you, my old and
true friend. I have rejoiced week by week to hear of your recovered
health, your activity, your renewed zest in life. When shall I welcome
you back? I feel somehow that in these months of separation we have
grown much nearer and closer together. We have been able to speak in
our letters in a way that we have seldom been able to speak eye to eye.
There is a pure gain. My heart goes out to you and yours; and at this
moment I feel as if the dividing seas are nothing, and that we are
close together in the great and loving heart of God.--Your ever
affectionate,

T. B.

SIBTHORPE VICARAGE, WELLS,
Jan. 7, 1905.

DEAR HERBERT,--Four nights ago I dreamed a strange dream. I was in a
big, well-furnished, airy room, with people moving about in it; I knew
none of them, but we were on friendly terms, and talked and laughed
together. Quite sudden