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England, a little room that contained a little bed. And in the bed was a boy four or five years old. We could hear the voices of the mother and child as they talked together. “And when will father come home?” the little one asked. “I do not know,” said the mother. “Father will come home, won’t he? Are you sure that he will come home?” “I pray that he comes home soon,” was all the mother said.
    The eyes of children, as they pass into the twilight world, the world between waking and sleeping, are sometimes very clear. “Why, father has come home!” the child cried, and he stretched out his arms to the father with a glad cry. And the mother knew and was very still. But her grief was softened by knowing that he whom she loved had come home and that her child had seen him. I think he will remain with her until she can join him here. The delay will not retard the progress of his soul. Love is the fulfilling of the law. There is time in eternity for love and the delays of love. In love a thousand years are as one day.
    March 29

Letter 11
    Many Tongues
    Learn Languages. My work in this war has been hampered by my knowing so little of German. With the souls of those long here I can hold converse by pure thought; but the souls of the newly come speak the language they spoke on earth and often that language is but a patois. That is one reason why I have had best success among the English armies. I can read the thoughts of the Germans and the French, but they cannot always understand me. The father and mother of the two women in Belgium had been so long out here that we could understand each other’s thoughts. Learn languages. When you come to work in this world you may want them even more than on earth, for distances here are short as thought, and one goes from place to place in the twinkling of an eye.
    March 30

Letter 12
    The Beautiful Being
    The angel we call the Beautiful Being, who guided me on my journey among the planets, would like to insert here a few words on Love and Hate. They seem to be an expression of the mortal and the Immortal Self, in the early days of the war.
    Love and hate
    One whom I loved made war on me, and the nations of the earth made war on one another. The green fields were stained with blood and the hum of the harvest crickets was drowned with cries of pain and rage, as men rushed on to wreak their hate upon their human kindred. My heart was sadder than the skies of the London winter. No joy there seemed in all the earth; for love was dying and peace was dead, and men were going everywhere to death. Mene Mene Tekel Upharsin* was written on the walls of the human temple.
    And I said to my heart:
    “Where have we drifted in the midday of our life? And why do we wait for the sunset? For love has failed, and the world has failed, and have we not failed, too?”
    Then as I sat gazing into the nothingness of my own faith, I heard a voice that seemed to come from the center of all things and the voice said:
    “Take your pen and write, for to him who has lost everything the treasures of the Self are opened.
    “I am that Self that you had forgotten when you looked inside for love. I am the Self that the nations had forgotten when they went out to destroy one another. I am the One Self, and my house is in all these hearts that throb with hate and love. When they wound each other they wound me; when they doubt each other they doubt me; when they love each other they love me. There is no other way of realizing me save by love and hate and faith and doubt. For love and hate are two poles of the one magnet, and doubt and faith are my twin-born children.
    “He who has never doubted all, knows not the meaning of faith; and he who has never been hated, knows not the meaning of love.
    “When the heart is empty of joy I fill it with myself. When my own destroy each other on earth they rush together in heaven. Freed from the blindness of the body they see each other true.
    “Two soldiers went forth