THE LAST YEARS 379 
March 18, 1902. — Marie and Rodolphe got off 
this morning, and the children and I and Jackie also 
were at the dining-room window with waving of hands 
and handkerchiefs, and barks thrown in. I said to 
Jackie, ‘‘You’ll miss your master badly, Jackie,”’ to 
which Marie added as a supreme consolation, “Yes, 
but you ll have Grandma.” After the travellers had 
gone the children unpacked with me, and as they 
found many small surprises for themselves in my 
baggage they were quite pleased. This afternoon the 
weather cleared and they had their walk and then we 
read together and now they are fast asleep. 
March 22.— There is little to say. —A sort of 
pause has come in my life, and it has a great 
charm for me thus far. In the early mornings I am 
reading the book that Pauline likes so much — Reli- 
gion and Democracy. It is certainly a striking book — 
suggestive to me, at least. But there is a certain sense 
of effort about the style — a striving after originality 
of form and phrase, — sometimes one would say a 
touch of Emerson, but without his simplicity and un- 
consciousness. The thoughts are certainly strong and 
large. One has a sense of completeness in the universe 
as a whole. And yet, —and yet, —the mysteries 
remain. 
March 24. — A beautiful day, and I lengthened my 
walk a little. But walking when you are old is a very 
different thing from walking when you are young. 
The springiness, the elasticity is all gone, — an im- 
mense pleasure has become a duty, and yet it is better 
to keep it up if one can. 
