Box G, Brookline, Mass., May 15, 1908.
My Dear Editor:— Permit me to say the report that I am sick (and I trust the desire thereof) is dead, and should be buried. Whereas the fact that I am well and keenly alive to the truth of being—the Love that is Life—is sure and steadfast. I go out in my carriage daily, and have omitted my drive but twice since I came to Massachusetts. Either work, the demands upon my time at home, or the weather is all that prevents my daily drive.
Working and praying for my dear friends' and my dear enemies' health, happiness, and holiness, the true sense of being goes on.
Doing unto others as we would that they do by us is immortality's self. Intrepid, self-oblivious love fulfils the law and is self-sustaining and eternal. With white-winged charity brooding over all, spiritually understood and demonstrated, let us unite in one Te Deum of praise.
Sincerely yours,
Editor New York Herald, New York City.
Dictated, M.B.G.E.,—A.H.D.
