LXIII.
MY  DEAR , — I  am  very  tired.  I  could  scarcely  instruct  my  class  to
day  ;  I  have  been  so  languid,  that  you  must  not  be  surprised  if  this*  letter  ex
hibits  in  its  replies  the  traces  of  a  jaded  mind  that  can  not  grasp  its  subject.
First  of  all,  the  twice-told  tale  of  Keble's  Sunday  before  Advent,  and  its
being  "use."  Things  new  and  old  out  of  the  treasure-house.  Is  the  sun
rise  use  ?  Suppose  a  child  casts  up  a  sum  wrong  ten  times,  and  the  hands
get  hot  and  the  brain  dizzy,  what  do  you  say  ?  "  Calm  yourself,  my  child ;
take  a  walk  round  the  garden,  then  sit  still,  resolve,  wipe  it  all  out,  and  try
again,  and  I  will  sit  beside  you  until  you  do  it."  I  say  to  you,  try  again.
As  to  the  dream,  let  it  be  a  spur  and  incentive  to  rouse  and  invigorate,  not
to  terrify.  You  are  not  alone  in  this  world  ;  neither  are  you  to  begin  again
the  scrupulously  regular  life  which  you  have  once  found  fail.  Wait!  Let


Rev.  Frederick  W.  Robertson.  203

all  come  by  degrees.  Prescribe  no  ascetic  rules  nor  self-invented  ritual  for
yourself.  That  is  law,  and  law  only  irritates.
Begin  from  belief  and  love,  and  do  not  coerce  belief.  Your  mind  is  at  sea.
