_October 28_ (2nd letter, almost
at the same hour).

MY DEAR, DEAR MOTHER,--Another welcome moment to spend with you. We can
never say any but the same thing, but it is so fine a thing that it can
always be said in new ways.

To-day we are living under a sky of great clouds as swift and cold as
those of the Dutch landscape painters.

* * * * *

Dear, I dare not wish for anything--it must not be. I must not even
consider a partial relaxation. I assure you that the effort for
endurance is less painful than certain times of intensive preparation
that we have passed through. Only we can each moment brace ourselves in
a kind of resistance against what is evil in us, and leave every door
open to the good which comes from without.

. . . I am glad that you have read Tolstoi: he also took part in war. He
judged it; he accepted its teaching. If you can glance at the admirable
_War and Peace_, you will find pictures that our situation recalls. It
will make you understand the liberty for meditation that is possible to
a soldier who desires it.

As to the disability which the soul might be supposed to suffer through
the lack of all material well-being, do not believe in it. We lead the
life of rabbits on the first day of the season's shooting, and,