Edith to Stuart
31.12.17
Your note was for tonight, but (please, I’m very wicked) I opened it as soon as I could this morning. It’s such a long time since we wrote anything, that I just could not wait, but went away upstairs, as soon as Mother was gone, and read it. I was not at all shocked, for in this case, as in many others, I am far worse than you are. I know, and God knows, how busy your are in the mornings and you have very little, or no, time to yourself. I often feel as you do in the evenings, too tired to pray, or read, or think properly. I do go through my prayers, but often I get to the end without having given the slightest attention to them. But in the mornings, sometimes I miss them out. Never altogether, because there are two or three little ones I always say in bed, and never on school days, because I would not dare to go to school without. But in the holidays, just when I might give most time to them, I am lazy, and get up so late, that I say to myself, “I will come back after breakfast”. Then – I forget. Now, while there is every excuse for you, there is none at all for me. I have my room to myself, and plenty of time, - the only reason is laziness, while yours is work. Now, Dearest, don’t worry about it, just try. I am never, never, going to miss mine again, - that’s a New Year resolution, and I’m going to tell you if I break it. Of course, I shall go on praying for my Best of Men. Dearest, remember every morning I want your prayers, but especially on school-days. We must help each other up, but you must help most, because you have climbed higher.
This is not very nice, Dearest, but I must say. Goodbye, my Best of men, and Goodnight.
(c) DearestBeloved 2011
Monday, 31 January 2011
31 December 1917 Stuart to Edith - Letter #57
Stuart to Edith
Dec. 31 1917
Belovéd
It seems quite a long time since I wrote you my last note; I suppose it must be ten days or more; I wonder if I have forgotten how to write the kind you like.
I don’t think I am ever likely to forget just those few moments we had on Christmas Eve, they were to me one of those outstanding times, and especially nice was it when you came to me; do you remember, Sweetheart? I do, very very vividly. It was something of which I had often dreamed and which was then realised; I think it was the happiest time of all Christmas.
I have been trying to tell you recently many of the things which are deep down inside me, those things of which at one time I could not speak, things which show you what I really am, for I want you to know what a really am; I have felt over and over again that you have set me on high in your thoughts and I want you to know that your Man is not a lot better than other men, in fact I sometimes think he is worse in many ways, because he has had experiences such as few have had, which should have been stepping-stones. Dearest, I hope I shall not frighten you, but I feel very much as though I am losing touch with the things that matter. You must have heard how that in the past, I was a keen Church worker, especially on the more spiritual side, but my keenness seems to have gone and there no longer seems the life and help in things that there used to be.
For example, let me tell you what I think I have before. I used to read my Bible daily without fail – now I often omit it; and very often I forget (quite accidentally I believe) to say prayers in the morning and at night I am often too tired to say them properly.
Sweetheart, I fear this hurts you to read that your man is so clay-ey, you who are worthy of the Best that there is, but I think you should know the worst (if it is such) as well as the good things you imagine. I am not, however, content, to remain where I am, I continually struggle to get higher, to reach somewhere near to the beautiful character, which I see in you, you Noblest of Women. Please keep on praying for the Man who used to walk Alone.
Now I must tell you something better, something I just touched last night. It is this. I should not be surprised if the 4 years is sufficient, I can see glimmers of light and hope, I begin to think that I shall be able to do little saving almost at once towards Our Home and as time goes by, opportunities should increase; I cannot see anything very definite yet, but there seem to be signs of daylight on the horizon, the sun is almost ready to burst forth in all his glory and give us that glorious Day for which we are looking.
Goodbye, Belovéd, I seem to want you more and more as the days go by; it is less easy to say Goodbye quickly than it used to be, for there is one thought which I want to express always at such times, one you have often heard, but one which I trust and believe you will never tire of hearing, it – I love you; you the Best, the Noblest, the Purest, the Whitest of all Women, with whom there is no comparison and for whom only one word really suffices and that is – The Best.
Goodbye, God bless you, Wife to be; may the day quickly come when that “to be” may be erased.
P.S.M.
(c) DearestBeloved 2011
Dec. 31 1917
Belovéd
It seems quite a long time since I wrote you my last note; I suppose it must be ten days or more; I wonder if I have forgotten how to write the kind you like.
I don’t think I am ever likely to forget just those few moments we had on Christmas Eve, they were to me one of those outstanding times, and especially nice was it when you came to me; do you remember, Sweetheart? I do, very very vividly. It was something of which I had often dreamed and which was then realised; I think it was the happiest time of all Christmas.
I have been trying to tell you recently many of the things which are deep down inside me, those things of which at one time I could not speak, things which show you what I really am, for I want you to know what a really am; I have felt over and over again that you have set me on high in your thoughts and I want you to know that your Man is not a lot better than other men, in fact I sometimes think he is worse in many ways, because he has had experiences such as few have had, which should have been stepping-stones. Dearest, I hope I shall not frighten you, but I feel very much as though I am losing touch with the things that matter. You must have heard how that in the past, I was a keen Church worker, especially on the more spiritual side, but my keenness seems to have gone and there no longer seems the life and help in things that there used to be.
For example, let me tell you what I think I have before. I used to read my Bible daily without fail – now I often omit it; and very often I forget (quite accidentally I believe) to say prayers in the morning and at night I am often too tired to say them properly.
Sweetheart, I fear this hurts you to read that your man is so clay-ey, you who are worthy of the Best that there is, but I think you should know the worst (if it is such) as well as the good things you imagine. I am not, however, content, to remain where I am, I continually struggle to get higher, to reach somewhere near to the beautiful character, which I see in you, you Noblest of Women. Please keep on praying for the Man who used to walk Alone.
Now I must tell you something better, something I just touched last night. It is this. I should not be surprised if the 4 years is sufficient, I can see glimmers of light and hope, I begin to think that I shall be able to do little saving almost at once towards Our Home and as time goes by, opportunities should increase; I cannot see anything very definite yet, but there seem to be signs of daylight on the horizon, the sun is almost ready to burst forth in all his glory and give us that glorious Day for which we are looking.
Goodbye, Belovéd, I seem to want you more and more as the days go by; it is less easy to say Goodbye quickly than it used to be, for there is one thought which I want to express always at such times, one you have often heard, but one which I trust and believe you will never tire of hearing, it – I love you; you the Best, the Noblest, the Purest, the Whitest of all Women, with whom there is no comparison and for whom only one word really suffices and that is – The Best.
Goodbye, God bless you, Wife to be; may the day quickly come when that “to be” may be erased.
P.S.M.
(c) DearestBeloved 2011
21 December 1917 Edith to Stuart - Letter #56
Edith to Stuart
21.12.17
My Belovéd,
Before I do anything else, I must just refer to one little bit in your last note, the bit where you said, “If you ever find any thing selfish in what I tell you of my home-life ---“. Dearest, I am sure that no-one who knows anything of the truth of your home-life, could accuse you of being the least bit selfish. I am sure there is no selfishness in it. To me, it seems that the past few years have been one long self-sacrifice on your part; and I hope I shall never say anything to you about your being selfish, for I am sure it would be untrue if I did.
I am writing this note under difficulties, while sitting on the rug drying my hair, - so please excuse all deficiencies. I enjoyed myself this afternoon shopping. I went alone, and came home loaded, so much loaded that at the last shop I went to I had to ask the man to put the parcel in my bag for me. I had a piece of holly as tall as myself, (which is now broken up, the holly, I mean) two full bags and a big parcel. My arms were stiff when I got home, but I felt so nice and Christmassy. Some of the folks I passed thought I was mad, I’m sure, for I sang quite out loud at times, and smiled at all the kiddies. I just wished I was taking that piece of holy home to our house, and that you felt as Christmassy as I did. I bought a book, too, for 6d (a 3/6 book) called “Woman’s Kingdom”, and it’s all about the “Home Beautiful”. There are some nice pictures in it, which I must show you someday and you must tell me what you think of them. There is a “Cottage dining room”, which looks just right and a tricky writing desk fixed in the wall.
It’s time to get supper, so I’ll have to say “Good-bye” once more. I am afraid there is not much in this to-night. I wish I could make it as Christmassy as I feel. Goodnight, my Dearest. I hope we shall soon have a real Christmas together. Then, I know you will not think it a lot of trouble for a little result. Goodnight, my Dearest and Best of men, Goodnight.
----------------------------------------------------------
This fire from God’s altar, this holy love-flame,
That burns like sweet incense for ever for you,
Might now be a wild conflagration of shame,
Had you tortured my heart, or been base, or untrue.
For angels and devils are cast in one mould,
Till love guides them upward, or downward, I hold.
I tell you, the women who make fervent wives
And sweet tender mothers, had Fate been less fair,
Are the women who might have abandoned their lives
To the madness that springs from, and ends in despair,
As the fire on the hearth, which sheds brightness around;
Neglected, may level the walls to the ground.
The world makes grave errors in judging these things.
Great good and great evil are born in one bread;
Love horns us and hoofs us, or gives us our wings.
And the best could be worst, as the worst could be best.
You must think your own worth for what I grew to be,
For the demon lurked under the angel in me.
(c) DearestBeloved 2011
21.12.17
My Belovéd,
Before I do anything else, I must just refer to one little bit in your last note, the bit where you said, “If you ever find any thing selfish in what I tell you of my home-life ---“. Dearest, I am sure that no-one who knows anything of the truth of your home-life, could accuse you of being the least bit selfish. I am sure there is no selfishness in it. To me, it seems that the past few years have been one long self-sacrifice on your part; and I hope I shall never say anything to you about your being selfish, for I am sure it would be untrue if I did.
I am writing this note under difficulties, while sitting on the rug drying my hair, - so please excuse all deficiencies. I enjoyed myself this afternoon shopping. I went alone, and came home loaded, so much loaded that at the last shop I went to I had to ask the man to put the parcel in my bag for me. I had a piece of holly as tall as myself, (which is now broken up, the holly, I mean) two full bags and a big parcel. My arms were stiff when I got home, but I felt so nice and Christmassy. Some of the folks I passed thought I was mad, I’m sure, for I sang quite out loud at times, and smiled at all the kiddies. I just wished I was taking that piece of holy home to our house, and that you felt as Christmassy as I did. I bought a book, too, for 6d (a 3/6 book) called “Woman’s Kingdom”, and it’s all about the “Home Beautiful”. There are some nice pictures in it, which I must show you someday and you must tell me what you think of them. There is a “Cottage dining room”, which looks just right and a tricky writing desk fixed in the wall.
It’s time to get supper, so I’ll have to say “Good-bye” once more. I am afraid there is not much in this to-night. I wish I could make it as Christmassy as I feel. Goodnight, my Dearest. I hope we shall soon have a real Christmas together. Then, I know you will not think it a lot of trouble for a little result. Goodnight, my Dearest and Best of men, Goodnight.
----------------------------------------------------------
This fire from God’s altar, this holy love-flame,
That burns like sweet incense for ever for you,
Might now be a wild conflagration of shame,
Had you tortured my heart, or been base, or untrue.
For angels and devils are cast in one mould,
Till love guides them upward, or downward, I hold.
I tell you, the women who make fervent wives
And sweet tender mothers, had Fate been less fair,
Are the women who might have abandoned their lives
To the madness that springs from, and ends in despair,
As the fire on the hearth, which sheds brightness around;
Neglected, may level the walls to the ground.
The world makes grave errors in judging these things.
Great good and great evil are born in one bread;
Love horns us and hoofs us, or gives us our wings.
And the best could be worst, as the worst could be best.
You must think your own worth for what I grew to be,
For the demon lurked under the angel in me.
(c) DearestBeloved 2011
20 December 1917 Stuart to Edith - Letter #55
Stuart to Edith
Dec. 20 1917
It is not difficult for me to realise that when the time comes, we shall have one of the best of homes, perhaps I ought to say the Best Home for that is what it will be to me and I hope and believe to you.
We are getting more definite and practical in our ideas, we are beginning to see something real in our hopes and dreams and for my own part, I find it all the more helpful, it increases the pleasure and happiness with which I look forward. Sometimes, fairly often, I say to myself, but not impatiently “How long? Will that 3½ years be all, or will there be more?” I hope it will be all, that will be long enough to wait, but I look ahead and doubt whether I shall be ready by then. As I told you once, I can’t save now, it is all I can do to make ends meet, but possibly and probably things will improve shortly and I shall do my very best to be ready as soon as you are.
However, I think we are very fortunate. When I think of the ordinary man here at home, and compare myself with him, I feel I have many advantages; I expect I can meet you more often than any other man can meet his woman. Or if I think of men of my own age, they have all left their dear and loved ones behind while they have gone to fight; but I, Dearest, am still here, able to have those happy times with you, even when we are silent, and to think, when parted, of the next times we shall meet, and to look ahead into the future.
I hope if at any time you should see in me things which will be harmful in our home, that you will tell me, or if any of the things I tell you of in my home life now are wrong and selfish that you will tell me, for if I can help it, there must be no weeds in that beautiful Life we are hoping to live together.
Although I think of it, so often My Best of Women, I cannot realize anything of what it will be like, it seems too great, too wonderful for me to comprehend, but as I try to imagine it, I sometimes feel that such happiness is almost too good for this life; for I feel right inside me that we together are going to live the Best Life and have the best home that ever was or will be.
I must say Goodbye, as it is getting late and I have not dressed. I wish I could find words to express all that you have done for me and all that you mean to me, but you must be content with my saying that you have made my life better and happier than it ever was, that you are the Best of Women, my Queen.
What else I would say, you must imagine, and now Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye.
(c) DearestBeloved 2011
Dec. 20 1917
It is not difficult for me to realise that when the time comes, we shall have one of the best of homes, perhaps I ought to say the Best Home for that is what it will be to me and I hope and believe to you.
We are getting more definite and practical in our ideas, we are beginning to see something real in our hopes and dreams and for my own part, I find it all the more helpful, it increases the pleasure and happiness with which I look forward. Sometimes, fairly often, I say to myself, but not impatiently “How long? Will that 3½ years be all, or will there be more?” I hope it will be all, that will be long enough to wait, but I look ahead and doubt whether I shall be ready by then. As I told you once, I can’t save now, it is all I can do to make ends meet, but possibly and probably things will improve shortly and I shall do my very best to be ready as soon as you are.
However, I think we are very fortunate. When I think of the ordinary man here at home, and compare myself with him, I feel I have many advantages; I expect I can meet you more often than any other man can meet his woman. Or if I think of men of my own age, they have all left their dear and loved ones behind while they have gone to fight; but I, Dearest, am still here, able to have those happy times with you, even when we are silent, and to think, when parted, of the next times we shall meet, and to look ahead into the future.
I hope if at any time you should see in me things which will be harmful in our home, that you will tell me, or if any of the things I tell you of in my home life now are wrong and selfish that you will tell me, for if I can help it, there must be no weeds in that beautiful Life we are hoping to live together.
Although I think of it, so often My Best of Women, I cannot realize anything of what it will be like, it seems too great, too wonderful for me to comprehend, but as I try to imagine it, I sometimes feel that such happiness is almost too good for this life; for I feel right inside me that we together are going to live the Best Life and have the best home that ever was or will be.
I must say Goodbye, as it is getting late and I have not dressed. I wish I could find words to express all that you have done for me and all that you mean to me, but you must be content with my saying that you have made my life better and happier than it ever was, that you are the Best of Women, my Queen.
What else I would say, you must imagine, and now Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye.
(c) DearestBeloved 2011
Sunday, 20 December 2009
19 December 1917 Edith to Stuart - Letter #54
Edith to Stuart
19.12.17
My Belovéd,
Your note last night was just lovely, and thank you ever so much for it. I was particularly glad to read what you said about “all in all”, because several times I have been afraid that I did not come up to Harold’s picture. I don’t now believe that I do really, but I am glad you think I do, and I am trying the best I can.
I must go on with this in pencil, so please excuse it, for I cannot help it.
I was glad to read, too, that you liked the idea of polished floors, I was afraid that, perhaps, your great ambition, like my Dad’s, was to have a mice, thick carpet on your floor. I know Dad has wanted one for a long time, and I hope he is satisfied now that he has it. But I know that polished floors are the cleanest you can possibly have, and I should think they are cheaper than linoleum or carpet. I am only afraid that perhaps there is some difficulty in keeping them nice, as so few people go in for them. But they did not seem to be any trouble at school. At any rate, we can try, can’t we, Belovéd, and if our plans don’t answer well when carried out, we must just alter them till we find The Best Way. So much for the floors in our Home Beautiful. Next come the walls, and I will tell you what has always been my greatest ambition in that way, although I should think it is not often practicable except in one’s very own house. I should like, best of all, to have nice, clean, distempered, walls that can be washed. Failing this, I would have plain wall-papers, or papers with only very small patterns on them. I don’t know whether you have ever worried out problems in geometry on the wall-paper while you have been lying in bed. I have, and sometimes it is worse than nightmare. So – no large patterned papers in our Home Beautiful.
I hope, Dearest, I don’t frighten you when I write like this, you know, Mother says I shall want £1,000 a year, or something like it, to keep up my home. I expect I should, if it were really my Ideal Home. But I hope I am sensible enough to realise that I can not have all I want, nor, in fact, a great deal that I want. I don’t see that there is any harm in dreaming of these things, providing one can be content without them, and I think I can be, provided I have – you.
So, Dearest, I shall go on dreaming, and building up and Ideal Home in my imagination, just as a sort of picture which I shall do my best to copy. I will show you as much as I can of my picture, and you must show me as much as you can of yours, and then we must combine the two and – build.
Now I must say Goodnight and Goodbye. What you tell me about your supper, and the supper-thing and everything, makes me long more and more for our “Someday”. Still, I know you make the best of it, but I wish I could help you, so that the best might be a good deal better. “Carry on” for a little while, and then we shall be together, always.
Goodnight, Belovéd, Goodnight.
The Little Poem of Life
I:-
Thou:-
We:-
They:-
Small words, but mighty.
In their span
Are bound the life and hopes of man.
For first, his thoughts of his own self are full;
Until another comes, his heart to rule.
For them, life’s best is centred round their love;
Till younger lives come, all their love to prove.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
19.12.17
My Belovéd,
Your note last night was just lovely, and thank you ever so much for it. I was particularly glad to read what you said about “all in all”, because several times I have been afraid that I did not come up to Harold’s picture. I don’t now believe that I do really, but I am glad you think I do, and I am trying the best I can.
I must go on with this in pencil, so please excuse it, for I cannot help it.
I was glad to read, too, that you liked the idea of polished floors, I was afraid that, perhaps, your great ambition, like my Dad’s, was to have a mice, thick carpet on your floor. I know Dad has wanted one for a long time, and I hope he is satisfied now that he has it. But I know that polished floors are the cleanest you can possibly have, and I should think they are cheaper than linoleum or carpet. I am only afraid that perhaps there is some difficulty in keeping them nice, as so few people go in for them. But they did not seem to be any trouble at school. At any rate, we can try, can’t we, Belovéd, and if our plans don’t answer well when carried out, we must just alter them till we find The Best Way. So much for the floors in our Home Beautiful. Next come the walls, and I will tell you what has always been my greatest ambition in that way, although I should think it is not often practicable except in one’s very own house. I should like, best of all, to have nice, clean, distempered, walls that can be washed. Failing this, I would have plain wall-papers, or papers with only very small patterns on them. I don’t know whether you have ever worried out problems in geometry on the wall-paper while you have been lying in bed. I have, and sometimes it is worse than nightmare. So – no large patterned papers in our Home Beautiful.
I hope, Dearest, I don’t frighten you when I write like this, you know, Mother says I shall want £1,000 a year, or something like it, to keep up my home. I expect I should, if it were really my Ideal Home. But I hope I am sensible enough to realise that I can not have all I want, nor, in fact, a great deal that I want. I don’t see that there is any harm in dreaming of these things, providing one can be content without them, and I think I can be, provided I have – you.
So, Dearest, I shall go on dreaming, and building up and Ideal Home in my imagination, just as a sort of picture which I shall do my best to copy. I will show you as much as I can of my picture, and you must show me as much as you can of yours, and then we must combine the two and – build.
Now I must say Goodnight and Goodbye. What you tell me about your supper, and the supper-thing and everything, makes me long more and more for our “Someday”. Still, I know you make the best of it, but I wish I could help you, so that the best might be a good deal better. “Carry on” for a little while, and then we shall be together, always.
Goodnight, Belovéd, Goodnight.
The Little Poem of Life
I:-
Thou:-
We:-
They:-
Small words, but mighty.
In their span
Are bound the life and hopes of man.
For first, his thoughts of his own self are full;
Until another comes, his heart to rule.
For them, life’s best is centred round their love;
Till younger lives come, all their love to prove.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Wednesday, 2 December 2009
18 December 1917 Stuart to Edith - Letter #53
Stuart to Edith
Dec. 18 1917
Sweetheart,
I don’t think that this is going to be a proper note; it may turn out to be, but it doesn’t feel so now. I want to tell you something which will not keep. You remember the letters I showed you that Harold wrote to me in the summer when he said “Get a girl” and what I should find; you remember what he said in his congratulatory letter, when you said I did not experience all that he said, I want to tell you just this; his words did not express one half of what I have found; you fill up all that wants filling up, you have turned life from a grey affair into happiness and strength; in fact, I could write many things but perhaps I may quote from those letters and say that in the best sense you are all in all.
Your ideas of the Home Beautiful show these things more and more; your ideas are beautiful and I know the results will be. They are just what I should like and I might go one further step and say that in addition to dark polished floors, I should like dark furniture, those round oak tables, in fact many of such things are as to be seen in your favourite shop, Baker’s. I think when the time comes you and I shall have to go there together and choose what we should like, but that must wait, although there is no reason why we should not put our dreams into some sort of tangible shape.
Dearest, I shall not attempt too many things, so do not worry about expressing your ideas of the perfect home. It is my duty both to country and family to garden now, and if as I do it, I think I am doing it to help you, to help us in our aims, it will make it pleasanter and I think I shall do it better. For the present, I think I can do little more, so I shall not attempt to fill any of those parts which you suggest.
I am pleased to have you say that you do find me affectionate; it may be Gladys did not, because she repulsed me. I hope you will always find me so, and as I said on Sunday, I hope we shall be “Sweethearts” “till death do us part”.
Goodbye, Belovéd, my Best of Women, how you conjure up happy thoughts of the days when the night will not end with Goodbye. I fear sometimes I am very very unworthy of you, your love and all your nobility, but I feel I am getting higher, and it is you who have raised.
Once more Goodbye and Goodnight; try to imagine I have said it as when I am with you and sleep and dream happily, Belovéd, the Best of All Women.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Dec. 18 1917
Sweetheart,
I don’t think that this is going to be a proper note; it may turn out to be, but it doesn’t feel so now. I want to tell you something which will not keep. You remember the letters I showed you that Harold wrote to me in the summer when he said “Get a girl” and what I should find; you remember what he said in his congratulatory letter, when you said I did not experience all that he said, I want to tell you just this; his words did not express one half of what I have found; you fill up all that wants filling up, you have turned life from a grey affair into happiness and strength; in fact, I could write many things but perhaps I may quote from those letters and say that in the best sense you are all in all.
Your ideas of the Home Beautiful show these things more and more; your ideas are beautiful and I know the results will be. They are just what I should like and I might go one further step and say that in addition to dark polished floors, I should like dark furniture, those round oak tables, in fact many of such things are as to be seen in your favourite shop, Baker’s. I think when the time comes you and I shall have to go there together and choose what we should like, but that must wait, although there is no reason why we should not put our dreams into some sort of tangible shape.
Dearest, I shall not attempt too many things, so do not worry about expressing your ideas of the perfect home. It is my duty both to country and family to garden now, and if as I do it, I think I am doing it to help you, to help us in our aims, it will make it pleasanter and I think I shall do it better. For the present, I think I can do little more, so I shall not attempt to fill any of those parts which you suggest.
I am pleased to have you say that you do find me affectionate; it may be Gladys did not, because she repulsed me. I hope you will always find me so, and as I said on Sunday, I hope we shall be “Sweethearts” “till death do us part”.
Goodbye, Belovéd, my Best of Women, how you conjure up happy thoughts of the days when the night will not end with Goodbye. I fear sometimes I am very very unworthy of you, your love and all your nobility, but I feel I am getting higher, and it is you who have raised.
Once more Goodbye and Goodnight; try to imagine I have said it as when I am with you and sleep and dream happily, Belovéd, the Best of All Women.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Sunday, 22 November 2009
17 December 1917 Edith to Stuart - Letter #52
Edith to Stuart
17.12.17
My Belovéd,
You were pleased withy my last note, and I hope you will be with this one, - but I don’t know. I like what you said about the garden, but you must not turn gardener just because I want a garden. If you take that line, you may feel it necessary to become paper-hanger, carpenter, house decorator, sanitary-inspector, and several other things. Besides, I shall not like to tell you all the things I think about, for fear you will seriously consider putting them into effect at once. They are only ideas, and may possibly give place to far different ones in time. I did not wish to imply that I wanted an elaborate garden, in fact, I think a wild sort of one is much nice, provided the weeds are kept under. Here’s another little poetry piece about a garden:-
“See this my garden
Large and fair!”
Thus, to his friend,
The Philosopher.
“’Tis not too long,”
His friend replied,
With truth exact, -
“Nor get too wide.
But well compact,
If somewhat cramped
On every side.”
Quick the reply –
“But see how high! –
It reaches up
To God’s blue sky!”
Not by their size
Measure we men
Or things.
Wisdom, with eyes
Washed in the fire,
Seeketh the things
That are higher –
Things that have wings,
Thoughts that aspire.
You see, Dearest, however small our garden is, it will reach up to the sky, and God will reach down to our garden.
Now, you want something about the inside of the Home Beautiful, don’t you, Belovéd? But, please, before I go on, promise me one thing, - If there is anything you do not like, or with which you disagree, you will tell me; - because it is our Home we are building, and it must satisfy us both.
There are several ideals which I have at the back of my head when I think of the inside of our Home, but I think the chief ones are Beauty, Cleanliness, and Comfort first, because it depends on the other two. Beauty is hard to write about, hard to talk about, you can only see it, and feel it. That is why it must be difficult to furnish a house will, for until you see an article in the place it is to occupy, you cannot tell whether it satisfies your sense of the beautiful or not. I have often been disappointed in this way, - after, too, surprised by the way in which the queerest things “fit in”. But about the Cleanliness, I could write pages. I do not mean the cleanliness with which most people are content, but Cleanliness with a capital C, like you have in hospitals, no a speck of dirt anywhere. I wonder if you understand all that that means. It means that there must be no carpets, for how can anybody clean a carpet, no furry, woolly rugs, no dark covers of any kind, in fact no dirt collectors at all. Do you think it will be like a barn? Listen! This is what I thought about the floor for our sitting room, and for our bed-room – polished floors all over, with two or three rugs like I’ve seen in a book. They are nice and woolly-like, with pretty patterns on (one I saw had a picture of three dogs running away with three bones, - that was not pretty, but funny), but they are made of cotton, and can be washed. Do you like this. If not, please, please say so, and tell me what you would like.
I have not written much, but is time to stop. I wish I could go on, there’s such a lot more. But, one day, Dearest, you will see the real thing – all that we have planned, and dreamed of, and worked for, and you will be the King of it all.
Goodbye, my Dearest, my King of Men. When that time comes I shall not say “Goodbye”, but only – Good-night.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
17.12.17
My Belovéd,
You were pleased withy my last note, and I hope you will be with this one, - but I don’t know. I like what you said about the garden, but you must not turn gardener just because I want a garden. If you take that line, you may feel it necessary to become paper-hanger, carpenter, house decorator, sanitary-inspector, and several other things. Besides, I shall not like to tell you all the things I think about, for fear you will seriously consider putting them into effect at once. They are only ideas, and may possibly give place to far different ones in time. I did not wish to imply that I wanted an elaborate garden, in fact, I think a wild sort of one is much nice, provided the weeds are kept under. Here’s another little poetry piece about a garden:-
“See this my garden
Large and fair!”
Thus, to his friend,
The Philosopher.
“’Tis not too long,”
His friend replied,
With truth exact, -
“Nor get too wide.
But well compact,
If somewhat cramped
On every side.”
Quick the reply –
“But see how high! –
It reaches up
To God’s blue sky!”
Not by their size
Measure we men
Or things.
Wisdom, with eyes
Washed in the fire,
Seeketh the things
That are higher –
Things that have wings,
Thoughts that aspire.
You see, Dearest, however small our garden is, it will reach up to the sky, and God will reach down to our garden.
Now, you want something about the inside of the Home Beautiful, don’t you, Belovéd? But, please, before I go on, promise me one thing, - If there is anything you do not like, or with which you disagree, you will tell me; - because it is our Home we are building, and it must satisfy us both.
There are several ideals which I have at the back of my head when I think of the inside of our Home, but I think the chief ones are Beauty, Cleanliness, and Comfort first, because it depends on the other two. Beauty is hard to write about, hard to talk about, you can only see it, and feel it. That is why it must be difficult to furnish a house will, for until you see an article in the place it is to occupy, you cannot tell whether it satisfies your sense of the beautiful or not. I have often been disappointed in this way, - after, too, surprised by the way in which the queerest things “fit in”. But about the Cleanliness, I could write pages. I do not mean the cleanliness with which most people are content, but Cleanliness with a capital C, like you have in hospitals, no a speck of dirt anywhere. I wonder if you understand all that that means. It means that there must be no carpets, for how can anybody clean a carpet, no furry, woolly rugs, no dark covers of any kind, in fact no dirt collectors at all. Do you think it will be like a barn? Listen! This is what I thought about the floor for our sitting room, and for our bed-room – polished floors all over, with two or three rugs like I’ve seen in a book. They are nice and woolly-like, with pretty patterns on (one I saw had a picture of three dogs running away with three bones, - that was not pretty, but funny), but they are made of cotton, and can be washed. Do you like this. If not, please, please say so, and tell me what you would like.
I have not written much, but is time to stop. I wish I could go on, there’s such a lot more. But, one day, Dearest, you will see the real thing – all that we have planned, and dreamed of, and worked for, and you will be the King of it all.
Goodbye, my Dearest, my King of Men. When that time comes I shall not say “Goodbye”, but only – Good-night.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
