What follows is a letter from George MacDonald to the recently-widowed wife of Norman McLeod, H.M. Chaplain in Scotland and editor of "Good Words for the Young."

My dear Mrs. McLeod,

I almost dread drawing near you with a letter. It seems as if all one could do, was to be silent and walk softly. Yet I would not have you think me heedless of you and your sorrow. And yet again, what is there to say? Comfort, all save what we can draw for ourselves from that eternal heart, is a phantom — a mere mockery. Either one must say and the other must believe that there is ground for everlasting exultation, or comfort is but the wiping of tears that for ever flow.

"Of all children how can the children of God be old?" (George MacDonald, Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood)  We will never be old: here, because here we will not be mature; there, because there age will mean more beauty, more strength.