ThroughoutthelongwatchesofthenightIfollowthem；andintheearlymorningtheyslideby，theireyespaleinthetwilight；whilethestarsflickerandfade，andthegaslampsdiedownintoadullyellowblotchagainstthegloryandglowofanewday。
　　CHAPTERII
　　FEBRUARYishere，Februaryfill-dyke；themonthofpurification，ofcleansingrainsandpulsingboundingstreams，andwhitemistclinginginsistenttofieldandhedgerowsothatwhenherveiliswithdrawngreennessmaymakeusglad。
　　Theriverhasbeenuniformlygreyoflate，withnowindtoruffleitssurfaceortospeedthebargesdroppingslowlyandsullenlydownwiththetidethroughablurringhaze。Iwatchedoneyesterday，itsuselesssailshalf-furledandnosignoflifesavethemanatthehelm。Itdriftedstealthilypast，andalittlebehind，flyinglow，cameasolitaryseagull，greyastheriver'shaze-afollowingbird。
　　OnceagainIlayonmybackinthebottomofthetarryoldfishingsmack，blueskyaboveandnosoundbuttheknock，knockofthewaves，andthethudandcurloffallingfoamastheoldboat'sbluntnosebreastedthecomingsea。ThenDaddyWhiddonspoke。
　　"Afollerin'burrd，"hesaid。
　　Igotup，andlookedacrossthebluefieldwewereploughingintowhitefurrows。Farawayatinysailscarredthegreatsolitude，andasterncameagullflyingslowlyclosetothewater'sbreast。
　　DaddyWhiddonwavedhispipetowardsit。
　　"Afollerin'burrd，"hesaid，again；andagainIwaited；questionswerenotgratefultohim。
　　"Therebeacarpsethere，sureenough，acarpsedriftin'andshiftin'onthefloorofthesea。Therebethoseascan'trest，poorsawls，andher'llbemun，her'llbemun，andthesperritofheriswiththeburrd。"
　　Theclumsyboomswungacrossaswechangedourcourse，andthewaterranfromusinsmoothreachesoneitherside:thebirdflewsteadilyon。
　　"Whatwillthespiritdo？"Isaid。
　　Theoldmanlookedatmegravely。
　　"Her'llrestintheLard'stime，intheLard'sgudetime-butnowher'lljustbefollerin'onwiththeburrd。"
　　Thegullwasflyingclosetousnow，andacoldwindsweptthesunnysea。Ishivered:Daddylookedatmecuriously。
　　"Therebereasonenoughtobecawldifusdidbutknawit，butIhemos'usedto'em，poorsawls。"Heshadedhiskeenoldblueeyes，andlookedawayacrossthewater。Hisfacekindled。"Therebeaskulecomin'，andbymysawl'tismackereltheybedrivin'。"
　　Iwatchedeagerly，andsawthedarklineriseandfallinthetroughofthesea，and，awaybehind，thestirandrushoftumblingporpoisesastheychasedtheirprey。
　　Againwechangedourtack，andeachtakinganoar，pulledlustilyforthebeach。
　　"PleaseGodher'llbreakinshore，"saidDaddyWhiddon；andheshoutedthenewstotheidlewaitingmenwhohailedus。
　　Inamomentallwasstir，forthefishinghadbeenslack。Twoboatsputoutwiththelithebrownseine。Thedarklinehadturned，buttheschoolwasstillbehind，churningthewaterinclumsyhaste；theywerecomingin。
　　Thenthebritbrokeinsilveryleapingwavesontheshelvingbeach。
　　Thethreefoldhuntwasover；theporpoisesturnedouttoseainsearchoffreshquarry；andtheseine，draggedbyreadyhands，cameslowly，stubbornlyinwithitsquiveringtreasureoffish。Theyhadsoughtahavenandfoundnone；thebritlaydyinginflickeringiridescentheapsasthebare-leggedbabiesofthevillagegatheredthemup；andfarawayoverthewaterIsawasinglegreyspeck；itwasthefollowingbird。
　　Thecurtainofriverhazefallsback；bargeandbirdarealikegone，andthelamplighterhaslitthefirstgas-lamponthefarsideofthebridge。EverynightIwatchhimcome，hisprogressmarkedbythegreatyelloweyesthatwakethedark。Sometimeshewalksquickly；sometimesheloitersonthebridgetochat，orstareatthedarkwater；buthealwayscomes，leavinghiswatchfuldeterrenttrainbehindhimtopolicethenight。
　　OnceDemeterintheblackanguishofherdesolationsearchedforlostPersephonebythelightofHecate'storch；andsearchingallinvain，spurnedbeneathheremptyfeetanearthbarrenofhersmile；frozewithsetbrowsthemerrybrooksandstreams；andsmoteforest，andplain，andfruitfulfield，withthebreathofherlastdespair，untilevenIambe'slaughingjestwasstill。Andthenwhenthedesolationwascomplete，acrossthewastedvalleywherethestarvelingcattlescarcelylongedtobrowse，camethedreadfulchariot-andPersephone。ThedayoftheprisonerofHadeshaddawned；andasthesunflamedslowlyuptolightherthwartedeyestheworldsprangintoblossomatherfeet。
　　WecanneverbetooPaganwhenwearetrulyChristian，andtheoldmythsareeternaltruthsheldfastintheChurch'snet。PrometheusfetchedfirefromHeaven，tobeslainforeverinthefetching；andlo，aGreaterthanPrometheuscametofirethecressetoftheCross。Demeterwaitsnowpatientlyenough。Persephonewaits，too，inthefaithofthesunshecannotsee:andeverylamplitcarriesonthecrusadewhichhasforitsgoalasunless，moonless，citywhoselightistheLightoftheworld。
　　"Lumeelassu，chevisibilefacelocreatoreaquellacreatura，chesoloinluivederehalasuapace。"
　　Immediatelyoutsidemywindowisalimetree-alittleblackskeletonofabundantbranches-inwhichsparrowscongregatetochirpandbicker。FartherawayIhaveaglimpseofgracefulplanes，childrenofmoonlightandmist；theirdaintyrobes，stillmoreorlessunsullied，gleamghostlyinthegaslightathwartthedark。Theymakeabraveshoweveninwinterwiththeirfeatherybranchesandswingingtassels，whereasmylittletreestandsstarkanduncompromising，withitshordeofsootysparrowscockneytothelasttailfeather，andapatheticinabilitytolookanythingbutblack。Raincomeswithstrongcaressingfingers，andthebranchesseemnowhitthecleanerforhercare；butthentheirglisteningblacknessmirrorsbackthesucceedingsunlight，asamuddypavementwillsometimeslapourfeetinaseaofgold。Thelittlewetsparrowsareforthemomentequallytransformed，forthesunturnstheirdun-colouredcoatstoaruddybronze，andcriesChrysostomasitkisseseachshinybeak。TheyaredumbChrysostoms；buttheypreachagoldengospel，forthesparrowsaretoLondonwhattherainbowwastoeightsavedsoulsoutofawasteofwaters-aperpetualsignoftherememberingmerciesofGod。
　　Lastnighttherewasasuddenclatterofhoofs，ashout，andthensilence。Arunawaycab-horse，adarknight，awidecrossing，andaheavyburden:sodeathcametoapoorwoman。Peoplefromthehousewentouttohelp；andIheardofher，thecentreofanunknowingcuriouscrowd，asshelaybonnetlessinthemudoftheroad，herheadonthekerb。Arudebutpainlessdeath:themiserylayinherlife；forthiswoman-worn，white-haired，andwrinkled-hadbutfiftyyearstosetagainstsuchacondition。Thepolicemanreportedherrespectable，hard-working，livingapartfromherhusbandwithasister；butalthoughtheysharedrooms，they"didnotspeak，"andthesisterrefusedallresponsibility；sotheparishburiedthedeadwoman，andthusendedanuneventfultragedy。
　　Wasitherownfault？Ifso，thegreaterpathos。Thelonelysoulsthatholdouttimidhandstoanunheedingworldhavetheirmeedofinteriorcomfortevenhere，whilethesonsofconsolationwaitonthethresh-holdfortheirfootfall:butGodhelpthesoulthatbarsitsowndoor！ItiskickingagainstthepricksofDivineordinance，theordinanceofatriuneGod；whetheritbethedwellerincrowdedstreetortenementwhoisproudtosay，"Ikeepmyselftomyself，"orSenecawritinginpitifulcomplacency，"WheneverI
　　havegoneamongmen，Ihavereturnedhomelessofaman。"Whateverthenextworldholdsinstore，wearebiddeninthistoseekandserveGodinourfellow-men，andinthecreaturesofHismakingwhomHecallsbyname。
　　Itwasoncemyprivilegetoknowanoldorgan-grindernamedGawdine。Hewasahardswearer，aharddrinker，ahardliver，andhefortifiedhimselfbodyandsoulagainsttheworld:heevendrankalone，whichisanevilsign。
　　OnedaytoGawdinesobercamealittledirtychild，whoclungtohisemptytrouserleg-hehadlostalimbyearsbefore-withapersistentunintelligiblerequest。Heshookthelittlechapoffwithablowandacurse；andthechildwastrottingdismallyaway，whenitsuddenlyturned，ranback，andheldupadirtyfaceforakiss。
　　TwodayslaterGawdinefellunderapassingdraywhichinflictedterribleinternalinjuriesonhim。Theypatchedhimupinhospital，andhewentbacktohisorgan-grinding，takingwithhimtwofriends-apainwhichfellsuddenlyuponhimtorackandrendwithananguishofcrucifixion，andthememoryofachild'supturnedface。Outwardlyhewasthesamesavethathechangedthetunesofhisorgan，outoflong-hoardedsavings，forthejigsandreelswhichchildrenholddear，andstoodpatientlyplayingtheminchild-crowdedalleys，wherepenniesarenotasplentifulaselsewhere。
　　Hecontinuedtodrink；itdidnotcomewithinhisnewcodetostop，sincehecould"carryhisliquorwell；"butherarely，ifever，swore。Hetoldmethistalethroughthethroesofhisanguishashelaycrouchedonamattressonthefloor；andasthegripofthepaintookhimhetoreandbitathishandsuntiltheyweremaimedandbleeding，tokeepthereadycursesoffhislips。
　　Hetoldthestory，buthegavenoreason，offerednoexplanation:
　　hehasbeendeadnowmanyayear，andthuswouldIwritehisepitaph:-
　　HesawthefaceofalittlechildandlookedonGod。
　　CHAPTERIII
　　"TWObegan，inalowvoice，'Why，thefactis，yousee，Miss，thishereoughttohavebeenaREDrose-tree，andweputawhiteoneinbymistake。'"
　　AsIlookroundthisroomIfeelsureTwo，andFive，andSeven，haveallbeenatworkonit，andmadenomistakes，forroundthewallsrunsafriezeofsquatstandardrose-trees，redasredcanbe，andjustlikethosethatAlicesawintheQueen'sgarden。InbetweenthemareChaucer'sname-children，primlittledaisies，peeringwideawakefromgreengrass。ThissamegrasshasahistorywhichIhaveheard。Intheoriginalstencilforthefriezeitwaspurelyconventionalliketherest，andmetinspikeycurvesroundeachtree；thepainter，however，whowasdoingthework，wasaloverofthefields；andfeelingthatsuchgrasswasatravesty，headdedonhisownaccountdaintylittletussocks，andsoftenedthehardlineintoatuftedcarpet，thegrassgrowingirregularly，bentatwillbythewind。
　　Theresultfromthestandpointofconventionalartisindeeddisastrous；butmysympathyandgratitudearewiththepainter。I
　　see，ashesaw，thefar-reachingrobeoflivingineffablegreen，ofwhosebrilliancetheeyeneverhastoomuch，andinwhoseweftnotwothreadsarealike；andshrinkashedidfromtheconventionalisingofthatwindsweptglory。
　　Theseahasitscrestedwavesofrecognisableform；theriveritseddyandswirlandseparatevortices；butthegrass！Thewindblowethwhereitlistethandthegrassbowsasthewindblows-
　　"thoucanstnottellwhitheritgoeth。"Ittakesnopattern，itobeysnorecognisedlaw；itislikeabeautifulcreatureofathousandwaywardmoods，anditsvoiceislikenothingelseinthewideworld。Itbidsyourestandburyyourtiredfaceinthegreencoolness，andbreatheofitsbreathandofthebreathofthegoodearthfromwhichmanwastakenandtowhichhewillonedayreturn。
　　Then，ifyoulendyourearandaresilentminded，youmayhearwondrousthingsofthedeepplacesoftheearth；oflifeinmineralandstoneaswellasinpulsingsap；ofagreenworldasthestarssawitbeforemantroditunderfoot-oftheemeraldwhichhasitsplacewiththerestintheCityofGod。
　　"WhatifearthBebuttheshadowofheaven，andthingstherein，Eachtoeachotherlike，morethanonearthtothought？"
　　Itisanaturalpartofcivilisation'slustofre-arrangementthatweshouldbesoreadytoconventionalisethebeautyofthisworldintodecorativepatternsforourpilgrimtents。Itisaphase，andwillmeltintootherphases；butittendstotheincreaseofartificiality，andexistsnotonlyinartbutineverything。Itisnonewthingforjadedsentimenttocravethespuroftheunnatural，topreferthecleverimitation，toliveinaDevachanwherethesurroundingsappearthatwhichwewouldhavethemtobe；
　　butitisaninterestingrecordofthepulseofthepresentdaythat'AnEnglishwoman'sLoveLetters'shouldhavetakensocietybystorminthewayitcertainlyhas。
　　Itisadelightfulbooktoleaveabout，withitsvellumbinding，daintyribbons，andthehallmarkofagreatpublisher'sname。Butwhenweseekwithinwefindlovewithitsthousandvoicesandwaywardmoods，itsshygracesandseemlyreticences，lovewhichhasitsthroneandrobeofstateaswellasthegarmentofthebeggarmaid，lovewhichisbeforetimewas，whichknewtheworldwhenthestarstookuptheircourses，presentedtousingushingoutpourings，theappropriatelanguageofawoman'shearttotheboorshedelightstohonour。
　　"Itiswomanwhoisthegloryofman，"saystheauthorof'TheHouseofWisdomandLove，'"REGINAMUNDI，greater，becausesofartheless；andmanisherhead，butonlyasheserveshisqueen。"
　　Setthissoberaphorismagainsttheschoolgirllove-makingwhichkissesaman'sfeetandgailyrefuseshimthebarrenhonourofhavinglovedherfirst。
　　Thereisscantneedfortheapologiawhichprecedestheletters；afewpagesdispelsthefearthatwearepryingintoanother'ssoul。
　　Asfortheauthorship，thereisawoman'sinfluence，anartist'spoorlyconcealedbiasintheforeignletters；andfortherestaman'sblunders-somucheasiertoseeinanotherthantoavoidoneself-writlargefromcovertocover。KingCophetua，whosends"profoundlygratefulremembrances，"hasmostsurelywrittenthelettershewouldwishtoreceive。
　　"MrsMeynell！"criesonereviewer，triumphantly。Nay，thesaintsbegoodtous，whathasMrsMeynellincommonwiththe"Englishwoman's"language，style，ormostunconvincingpassion？
　　Mencanwriteasfromawoman'sheartwhentheyaremindedtodosoindesperateearnestness-thereisClarissaHarloweandStevenson'sKirstie，andmanymoretoproveit；butwhenamanwritesastheauthorofthe"LoveLetters"writes，Ifeel，asdidthepainterofthefrieze，thatpattern-makinghasgonetoofarandincludedthatwhich，likethegrass，shouldbesparedsuchaconvention。
　　"Iquiteagreewithyou，"saidtheDuchess，"andthemoralofthatis-'Bewhatyouwouldseemtobe'-or，ifyou'dliketoputitmoresimply-'neverimagineyourselfnottobeotherwisethanwhatitmightappeartoothersthatwhatyouwereormighthavebeenwasnototherwisethanwhatyouhadbeenwouldhaveappearedtothemtobeotherwise。'"AndsobywayoftheQueen'sgardenIcomebacktomyroomagain。
　　Myheart'saffectionsarestillcentredonmyoldattic，withboardedfloorandwhite-washedwalls，wherethesunblazonedafriezeofredandgolduntilhetravelledtoofartowardsthenorth，themoonstreamedintopaintthetreesininkywaveringshadows，andthestarsflashedtheirglorytomeacrosstheyears。
　　Butnowsunandmoongreetmeonlyindirectly，andundertheredroseshangpictures，someofthemthedearcompanionsofmydays。
　　OppositemeistheArundelprintofthePresentation，paintedbythegentle"BrotheroftheAngels。"PriestSimeon，astatelyfigureingreenandgold，greatwithprophecy，gazesadoringlyattheBambinoheholdswithfatherlycare。OurLady，inrobeofredandveilofshadowedpurple，isinstinctwithlightdespitethesombrecolouring，asshestretchesouthungering，awe-struckhandsforhersoul'sdelight。StJoseph，dignifiedguardianandservitor，standsbehind，holdingtheSacrificeofthePoortoredeemtheFirst-begotten。
　　StPeterMartyrandtheDominicannun，gazinginraptcontemplationatthescene，arenotonewhitsurprisedtofindthemselvesinthepresenceofeternalmysteries。IntheEntombment，whichhangsontheoppositewall，StDominiccomesroundthecornerfullofgrievousamazeandtenderestsympathy，butwithnosenseofshockorintrusion，forwashenot"famigliardiCristo"？Andsohetakesitallin；thestonebedemptyandwaiting；theBelovedcradledforthelasttimeonHismother'skneestobewashed，lappedround，andlaidtorestasifHewereagaintheBabeofBethlehem。HeseestheMagdalenanointingtheSacredFeet；BlessedJohncaringforthelivingandtheDead；andhe，Dominic-houndoftheLord-havinghisreal，livingshareintheanguishandhope，thebeddingofthedearestDead，whodidbutleavethisearththatHemightmanifestHimselfmorecompletely。
　　Underneath，withaleapacrossthecenturies，isRossetti'spicture；Dantethistimetheonlooker，Beatrice，inherpalebeauty，thedeath-kissedone。Thesameideaunderdifferentrepresentations；theoneconceivedinchildlikesimplicity，theotherrecalling，eveninthephotograph，itswealthofcolourandimagining；theoneaworld-wideideal，theotheranindividualexpressionofit。
　　BeatricewastoDantetheinclusionofbelief。Shewasmoretohimthanhehimselfknew，farmoretohimafterherdeaththanbefore。
　　And，therefore，theanalogybetweenthepictureshasatcoreacommonreality。"ItisexpedientforyouthatIgoaway，"isconstantlybeingsaidtousasweclingearthliketotheoutwardexpression，ratherthantotheinwardmanifestation-andblessedarethosewhohearandunderstand，foritisspokenonlytosuchashavebeenwithHimfromthebeginning。Theeternalmysteriescomeintotimeforusindividuallyunderwidelydifferingforms。Thetinychildmothersitsdoll，croonstoit，spendsherselfuponit，whyshecannottellyou；andwewhoarehereinourextremeyouth，nevertobemenandwomengrowninthisworld，nurseourideal，exchangeit，refashionit，callitbymanynames；andatlastinhereorhereafterwefindinitsnakedtruththeChildinthemanger，evenastheWiseMenfoundHimwhentheycamefromtheEasttoseekagreatKing。Thereisbutonenecessaryconditionofthisfinding；wemustfollowtheparticularmanifestationoflightgivenus，neverrestinguntilitrests-overtheplaceoftheChild。
　　Andthereisbutoneinsurmountablehindrance，theextinctionofordrawingbackfromthelighttrulyapprehendedbyus。Weforgetthis，andjudgeothermenbythelightofourownsoul。
　　Ithinktheoldbishopmusthaveunderstoodit。Heismyfriendoffriendsasheliesoppositemywindowinhisalabastersleep，cladinpontificalrobes，withunshodfeet，alittleislandofwhitepeaceinamany-colouredmarblesea。Thefaithfulsculptorhasgiveneverylineandwrinkle，theheavyeyelidsandsunkenfaceoftiredoldage，butwithalthesmileofacontentedchild。