minds in easier postures, and to let our spirits have a wider
range. We know how a dog who is perpetually chained becomes fierce
and furious, and thinks of nothing but imaginary foes, so that the
most peaceful passer-by becomes an enemy. I have felt, since the
war began, a certain poison in the air, a tendency towards
suspicion and contentiousness and vague hostility. We must exorcise
that evil spirit if we can; and I believe it is best laid by
letting our minds go back to the old peace for a little, and
resolving that the new peace which we believe is coming shall be of
a larger and nobler quality; we may thus come to appreciate the
happiness which we enjoyed but had not earned; and lay our plans
for earning a new kind of happiness, the essence of which shall be
a mutual trust, that desires to give and share whatever it enjoys,
instead of hoarding it and guarding it.

A wise and unselfish woman wrote to me the other day in words which
will long live in my mind; she had sent out one whom she dearly
loved to the front, and she was fighting her fears as gallantly as
she could. "Whatever happens, we must not give way to dread," she
wrote. "It does not do to dread anything for our own treasures."

That is the secret! What we must not do, in the time of war, is to
indicate to everyone else what their sacrifices ought to be; we
must just make our own sacrifices; and perhaps the man who loves
and values peace most highly does not sacrifice the least. But even
he may try to realise that life does not contradict itself; but
that the parts of it, whether they be delightful or dreadful, do
work into each other in a marvellous way.