LETTERS FROM ABROAD
to a temperature in my mental atmosphere of which T always repent.
Politics occasionally overtakes me like a sudden fit of ague, without giving sufficient notice; and then it loaves me as suddenly, leaving behind a feeling of malaise. Politics is so wholly against my nature; and yet, belonging to an unfortunate country, born to an abnormal situation, we find it so difficult to avoid its outbursts, Now when I am alone, I am wishing that I could still my mind in the depth of that infinite peace, where all the wrongs of the world are slowly tuned up, out of their discordance, into the eternal rhythm of the flowers and stars.
But men are suffering all over the world and my heart is sick, I wish I had the power to pierce this suffering with music, and bring the message of abiding joy from the deeper regions of the world soul, and repeat to the people who are angry and to the people whoso heads are bowed down in shame-— "From joy all things are bom, by joy they are maintained, and intojoy they proceed and find their end."
Why should I be tho one to air cur grievances and give shrieking expression to the feeling of resentment? I pray for the great tranquillity of truth, from which have welled forth the immortal words that are to heal the wounds of the world and soothe the throbbing heat of hatred into forbearance.
