{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_46209/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_46209","id":"gutenberg_46209","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/46209","summary":null,"tags":["Category: American Literature","Category: Biographies","Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Concord (Mass.) -- Social life and customs"],"text":"CONCORD DAYS.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n  CONCORD DAYS\n  BY\n  A. BRONSON ALCOTT\n\n\n  \"Cheerful and various thoughts not always bound\n  To counsel, nor in deep ideas drowned.\"\n  JAMES HOWEL.\n\n\n  BOSTON\n  ROBERTS BROTHERS\n  1872.\n\n\n\n\n  Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872,\n  BY A. BRONSON ALCOTT,\n  In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.\n\n\n  _Stereotyped and Printed by_\n  ALFRED MUDGE & SON, BOSTON.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\nAPRIL.\n\n                                           PAGE\n  DIARIES                                     3\n  MY HOUSE                                    4\n  OUTLOOK                                    10\n  THOREAU                                    11\n  SELF-PRIVACY                               21\n  SUNDAY LECTURES                            23\n  EMERSON                                    25\n  RECREATION                                 41\n  GENEALOGIES                                45\n  SCHOLARSHIP                                49\n\n\nMAY.\n\n  RURAL AFFAIRS                              59\n  PASTORALS                                  65\n  CHANNING'S \"NEW ENGLAND\"                   66\n  CONVERSATION                               72\n  MARGARET FULLER                            77\n  CRASHAWS'S IDEAL WOMAN                     79\n  CHILDHOOD                                  83\n  PYTHAGORAS                                 88\n  CONVERSATION WITH CHILDREN                 92\n  PLUTARCH'S LETTER TO HIS WIFE             108\n\n\nJUNE.\n\n  BERRIES                                   117\n  CHANNING'S \"BLUEBERRY SWAMP\"              121\n  LETTERS                                   123\n  BOOKS                                     133\n  CRASHAW'S VERSES ADDRESSED TO A LADY      140\n  SPECULATIVE PHILOSOPHY                    143\n  PLOTINUS                                  148\n  IDEAL CULTURE                             151\n  GOETHE                                    157\n  CARLYLE                                   160\n\n\nJULY.\n\n  INDEPENDENCE DAY                          167\n  PHILLIPS                                  172\n  GREELEY                                   176\n  AGE OF IRON AND BRONZE                    178\n  CONVERSATION ON ENTHUSIASM                183\n  SWEDENBORG                                187\n  HAWTHORNE                                 193\n  LANDOR                                    197\n  SLEEP AND DREAMS                          201\n  GENESIS AND LAPSE                         205\n\n\nAUGUST.\n\n  PLATO'S LETTERS                           213\n  PLATO                                     217\n  PLATO'S METHOD                            222\n  SOCRATES                                  234\n  BERKELEY                                  236\n  BOEHME                                    237\n  MR. WALTON'S LETTER                       240\n  CRABBE ROBINSON'S DIARY                   245\n  COLERIDGE                                 246\n  SELDEN'S TABLE-TALK                       249\n  WOMAN                                     253\n\n\nSEPTEMBER.\n\n  WALDEN POND                               259\n  CHANNING'S \"WALDEN\"                       259\n  THE IDEAL CHURCH                          265\n  COLLYER                                   269\n  BEECHER                                   269\n  IDEALS                                    270\n  HEYWOOD'S \"SEARCH AFTER GOD\"              273\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nAPRIL.\n\n1869.\n\n    \"Now fades the last long streak of snow.\"\n      --_Tennyson._\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nCONCORD DAYS.\n\n\n\n\nDIARIES.\n\n\n  THURSDAY, 1.\n\nCome again into my study, having sat some time for greater comfort\nin the sunnier east room by an open fire, as needful in our climate,\nalmost, as in that of changeable England. Busy days these last, with a\nlittle something to show for them. After all, I am here most at home,\nand myself surrounded by friendly pictures and books, free to follow\nthe mood of the moment,--read, write, recreate. I wish more came of\nit all. Here are these voluminous diaries, showy seen from without,\nwith far too little of life transcribed within. Was it the accident of\nbeing shown, when a boy, in the old oaken cabinet, my mother's little\njournal, that set me out in this chase of myself, continued almost\nuninterruptedly, and now fixed by habit as a part of the day, like the\nrising and setting of the sun? Yet it has educated me into whatever\nskill I possess with the pen, I know not to how much besides; has made\nme emulous of attaining the art of portraying my thoughts, occupations,\nsurroundings, friendships; and could I succeed in sketching to the life\na single day's doings, should esteem myself as having accomplished the\nchiefest feat in literature. Yet the nobler the life and the busier,\nthe less, perhaps, gets written, and that which is, the less rewards\nperusal.\n\n    \"Life's the true poem could it be writ,\n    Yet who can live at once and utter it.\"\n\nAll is in the flowing moments. But who shall arrest these and fix the\nfeatures of the passing person behind the pageantry, and write the\ndiary of one's existence?\n\n\n\n\nMY HOUSE.\n\n\n  SATURDAY, 3.\n\nMy neighbors flatter me in telling me that I have one of the best\nplaced and most picturesque houses in our town. I know very well the\nsecret of what they praise. 'Tis simply adapting the color and repairs\nto the architecture, and holding these in keeping with the spot.\n\nA house, like a person, invites by amiable reserves, as if it loved\nto be introduced in perspective and reached by courteous approaches.\nLet it show bashfully behind shrubberies, screen its proportions\ndecorously in plain tints, not thrust itself rudely, like an inn, upon\nthe street at cross-roads. A wide lawn in front, sloping to the road\ngracefully, gives it the stately air and courtly approach. I like\nthe ancient mansions for this reason; these old Puritan residences\nfor their unpretending air, their sober tints, in strict keeping\nwith Wordsworth's rule of coloring, viz. that of the sod about the\ngrounds. A slight exaltation of this defines best the architecture by\ndistinguishing it from surrounding objects in the landscape. Modest\ntints are always becoming. White and red intolerable. And for some\nvariety in dressing, the neighboring barks of shrubbery suggest and\nbest characterize the coloring.\n\nAs for fences and gates, I was told that mine were unlike any other in\nthe world, yet as good as anybody's, hereby meaning to praise them,\nI infer. If less durable than others, the cost is inconsiderable,\nand has the associated pleasure, besides, of having come out of such\nideal capital as I had invested in my own head and hands. A common\ncarpenter would have spent more time in planing and fixing his pickets\nand set something in straight lines with angular corners to deform the\nlandscape; then the painter must have followed with some tint mixed\nneither by nature nor art. Now my work delights my eyes whenever I step\nout-of-doors, adding its ornament to the spot. Grotesque it may be with\nits knotted ornaments, Druid supports, yet in keeping with the woods\nbehind it. Besides, what pleasure the construction has given! Form,\ncolor, ornamentation alike concern builder and occupant, as they were\nblossoms of his taste and of the landscape. A good architect is both\nbuilder and colorist, and should be a good man besides, according to\nthe ancient authorities. Roman Vitruvius claims as much, if not more,\nof him:--\n\n\"It is necessary,\" he says, \"that an architect should be instructed in\nthe precepts of moral philosophy; for he ought to have a great soul,\nand be bold without arrogance, just, faithful, and totally exempt\nfrom avarice. He should have a great docility, which may hinder him\nfrom neglecting the advice that is given him, not only of the meanest\nartist, but also of those that understand nothing of architecture; for\nnot only architects but all the world must judge his works.\"\n\nHouses have their history, are venerable on account of their age and\norigin. Even our newly-settled country of but a century or two has\nalready crowned homesteads still standing with royal honors. Mine, I\nconjecture, is not far from one hundred and fifty years' standing.\nIt was a first-class country house in its day, with its window-seats\nin parlor and chambers, ornamental summers and casements, its ample\nfireplaces, and lean-to on the northern side. Like most of its period\nit was open to the road with overshadowing elms still embowering\nthe mansion; had a lion-headed door-knocker, and huge chimney-tops\nsurmounting the gables. Of learned ancestry, moreover; having been\nthe homestead of a brother of President Hoar, of Harvard College, and\nremained in possession of members of that venerable family down to\nnear the beginning of the present century. The site is hardly surpassed\nby any on the old Boston road; the woods behind crowning the range\nof hills running north almost to the village, and bordering east on\nWayside, Hawthorne's last residence. It must have been chosen by an\noriginal settler, probably coming with the Rev. Peter Bulkeley from\nEngland, in 1635.[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: Johnson, in his \"Wonder Working Providence Concerning\nNew England,\" describes the company of settlers on their way from\nCambridge, under the lead of the Rev. Peter Bulkeley, the principal\nfounder of Concord.]\n\nThe ancient elms before the house, of a hundred years' standing and\nmore, are the pride of the yard. It were sacrilege to remove a limb or\ntwig unless decayed, so luxuriant and far-spreading, overshadowing the\nroof and gables, yet admitting the light into hall and chambers. Sunny\nrooms, sunny household. \"Build your house,\" says a mystic author, \"upon\na firm foundation, and let your aspect be towards the east, where the\nsun rises, that so you may enjoy its fruitfulness in your household and\norchards.\"\n\nWhether the first settler planted these elms, or whether they are\nsurvivors of the primitive forest which was felled to make way and\nroom for the rude shelter of the hardy settlers, is not ascertained.\nTheir roots penetrate primitive soil; the surrounding grounds have\nbecome productive by the industry and skill, mellowed and meliorated\nby the humanities of their descendants. They came honestly by their\nhomesteads, paying their swarthy claimants fair prices for them; the\nlandscape is still inviting by its prairie aspects, its brook-sides and\nmeadows where the red men trod.\n\nIt was these broad meadows beside the \"Grass ground River\" that\ntempted alike the white and red man,--the one for pasturage, the other\nfor fishing,--and brought the little colony through the wilderness\nto form the settlement named \"Musketaquid,\" after the river of that\nname (signifying grass ground), and later taking that of Concord, not\nwithout note in history.\n\n    \"Beneath low hills, in the broad interval\n    Through which at will our Indian rivulet\n    Winds mindful still of sannup and of squaw,\n    Whose pipe and arrow oft the plough unburies;\n    Here, in pine houses, built of new-fallen trees,\n    Supplanters of the tribe, the planters dwelt.\"\n\nThe view from the rustic seat overlooking my house commands the\namphitheatre in which the house stands, and through which flows Mill\nbrook, bordered on the south and east by the Lincoln woods. It is a\nquiet prospect and might be taken for an English landscape; needs but\na tower or castle overtopping the trees surrounding it. The willows by\nthe rock bridge over the brook, the winding lane once the main track\nof travel before the turnpike branching off from the old Boston road\nby Emerson's door was built, adds to the illusion, while on the east\nstands the pine-clad hill, Hawthorne's favorite haunt, and hiding his\nlast residence from sight.\n\nOn the southwest is an ancient wood, Thoreau's pride, beyond which is\nWalden Pond, distant about a mile from my house, and best reached by\nthe lane opening opposite Hawthorne's. Fringed on all sides by woods,\nthe interval, once a mill pond, is now in meadow and garden land, the\nslopes planted in vineyards, market gardens and orchards lining the\nroad along which stand the farmers' houses visible in the opening.\n\nThis road has more than a local interest. If any road may claim\nthe originality of being entitled to the name of American, it is\nthis,--since along its dust the British regulars retreated from their\nmemorable repulse at the Old North Bridge, the Concord military\nfollowing fast upon their heels, and from the hill-tops giving them\nsalutes of musketry till they disappeared beyond Lexington, and gave a\nday to history.\n\nAn agricultural town from the first, it is yet such in large\nmeasure; though like others in its neighborhood becoming suburban\nand commercial. Fields once in corn and grass are now in vineyards\nand orchards, tillage winding up the slopes from the low lands to\nthe hill-tops. The venerable woods once crowning these are fast\nfalling victims to the axe. The farmsteads are no longer the rural\nhomes they were when every member of the family took part in domestic\naffairs; foreign help serves where daughters once served; they with\ntheir brothers having left the housekeeping and farming for school,\nfactories, trade, a profession, and things are drifting towards\nan urbane and municipal civilization, the metropolis extending its\nboundaries, and absorbing the townships for many miles round.\n\nMoreover, the primitive features of the landscape are being obliterated\nby the modern facilities for business and travel, less perhaps than in\nmost places lying so near the metropolis; the social still less than\nthe natural; the descendants of the primitive fathers of the settlement\ncherishing a pride of ancestry not unbecoming in a republic, less\nfavorable for the perpetuation of family distinctions and manners than\nin countries under monarchical rule.\n\n\n\n\nOUTLOOK.\n\n\n  MONDAY, 5.\n\nOne's outlook is a part of his virtue. Does it matter nothing to\nhim what objects accost him whenever he glances from his windows,\nor steps out-of-doors? He who is so far weaned from the landscape,\nor indifferent to it, as not to derive a sweet and robust habit of\ncharacter therefrom, seems out of keeping with nature and himself.\nI suspect something amiss in him who has no love, no enthusiasm for\nhis surroundings, and that his friendships, if such he profess, are\nof a cold and isolate quality at best; one even questions, at times,\nwhether the residents of cities, where art has thrown around them a\nworld of its own, are compensated by all this luxury of display,--to\nsay nothing of the social artifices wont to steal into their costly\ncompliments,--for the simple surroundings of the countryman, which\nprompt to manliness and true gentility. A country dwelling without\nshrubbery, hills near or in the distance, a forest and water view, if\nbut a rivulet, seems so far incomplete as if the occupants themselves\nwere raw and impoverished. Wood and water god both, man loves to\ntraverse the forests, wade the streams, and confess his kindred\nalliance with primeval things. He leaps not from the woods into\ncivility at a single bound, neither comes from cities and conversations\nfreed from the wildness of his dispositions. Something of the forester\nstirs within him when occasion provokes, as if men were trees\ntransformed, and delighted to claim their affinities with their sylvan\nancestry.\n\n    Man never tires of Nature's scene,\n    Himself the liveliest evergreen.\n\n\nTHOREAU.\n\nMy friend and neighbor united these qualities of sylvan and human in a\nmore remarkable manner than any whom it has been my happiness to know.\nLover of the wild, he lived a borderer on the confines of civilization,\njealous of the least encroachment upon his possessions.\n\n    \"Society were all but rude\n    In his umbrageous solitude.\"\n\nI had never thought of knowing a man so thoroughly of the country,\nand so purely a son of nature. I think he had the profoundest passion\nfor it of any one of his time; and had the human sentiment been as\ntender and pervading, would have given us pastorals of which Virgil and\nTheocritus might have envied him the authorship had they chanced to be\nhis contemporaries. As it was, he came nearer the antique spirit than\nany of our native poets, and touched the fields and groves and streams\nof his native town with a classic interest that shall not fade. Some\nof his verses are suffused with an elegiac tenderness, as if the woods\nand brooks bewailed the absence of their Lycidas, and murmured their\ngriefs meanwhile to one another,--responsive like idyls. Living in\nclose companionship with nature, his muse breathed the spirit and voice\nof poetry. For when the heart is once divorced from the senses and all\nsympathy with common things, then poetry has fled and the love that\nsings.\n\nThe most welcome of companions was this plain countryman. One seldom\nmeets with thoughts like his, coming so scented of mountain and field\nbreezes and rippling springs, so like a luxuriant clod from under\nforest leaves, moist and mossy with earth-spirits. His presence was\ntonic, like ice water in dog-days to the parched citizen pent in\nchambers and under brazen ceilings. Welcome as the gurgle of brooks\nand dipping of pitchers,--then drink and be cool! He seemed one with\nthings, of nature's essence and core, knit of strong timbers,--like\na wood and its inhabitants. There was in him sod and shade, wilds and\nwaters manifold,--the mould and mist of earth and sky. Self-poised\nand sagacious as any denizen of the elements, he had the key to every\nanimal's brain, every plant; and were an Indian to flower forth\nand reveal the scents hidden in his cranium, it would not be more\nsurprising than the speech of our Sylvanus. He belonged to the Homeric\nage,--was older than pastures and gardens, as if he were of the race of\nheroes and one with the elements. He of all men seemed to be the native\nNew-Englander, as much so as the oak, the granite ledge; our best\nsample of an indigenous American, untouched by the old country, unless\nhe came down rather from Thor, the Northman, whose name he bore.\n\nA peripatetic philosopher, and out-of-doors for the best part of\nhis days and nights, he had manifold weather and seasons in him;\nthe manners of an animal of probity and virtue unstained. Of all\nour moralists, he seemed the wholesomest, the busiest, and the best\nrepublican citizen in the world; always at home minding his own\naffairs. A little over-confident by genius, and stiffly individual,\ndropping society clean out of his theories, while standing friendly\nin his strict sense of friendship, there was in him an integrity and\nlove of justice that made possible and actual the virtues of Sparta\nand the Stoics,--all the more welcome in his time of shuffling and\npusillanimity. Plutarch would have made him immortal in his pages had\nhe lived before his day. Nor have we any so modern withal, so entirely\nhis own and ours: too purely so to be appreciated at once. A scholar by\nbirthright, and an author, his fame had not, at his decease, travelled\nfar from the banks of the rivers he described in his books; but one\nhazards only the truth in affirming of his prose, that in substance\nand pith, it surpasses that of any naturalist of his time; and he is\nsure of large reading in the future. There are fairer fishes in his\npages than any swimming in our streams; some sleep of his on the banks\nof the Merrimack by moonlight that Egypt never rivalled; a morning of\nwhich Memnon might have envied the music, and a greyhound he once had,\nmeant for Adonis; frogs, better than any of Aristophanes; apples wilder\nthan Adam's. His senses seemed double, giving him access to secrets not\neasily read by others; in sagacity resembling that of the beaver, the\nbee, the dog, the deer; an instinct for seeing and judging, as by some\nother, or seventh sense; dealing with objects as if they were shooting\nforth from his mind mythologically, thus completing the world all round\nto his senses; a creation of his at the moment. I am sure he knew the\nanimals one by one, as most else knowable in his town; the plants, the\ngeography, as Adam did in his Paradise, if, indeed, he were not that\nancestor himself. His works are pieces of exquisite sense, celebrations\nof Nature's virginity exemplified by rare learning, delicate art,\nreplete with observations as accurate as original; contributions of the\nunique to the natural history of his country, and without which it were\nincomplete. Seldom has a head circumscribed so much of the sense and\ncore of Cosmos as this footed intelligence.\n\nIf one would learn the wealth of wit there was in this plain man,\nthe information, the poetry, the piety, he should have accompanied\nhim on an afternoon walk to Walden, or elsewhere about the skirts\nof his village residence. Pagan as he might outwardly appear, yet\nhe was the hearty worshipper of whatsoever is sound and wholesome\nin nature,--a piece of russet probity and strong sense, that nature\ndelighted to own and honor. His talk was suggestive, subtle, sincere,\nunder as many masks and mimicries as the shows he might pass; as\nsignificant, substantial,--nature choosing to speak through his\nmouth-piece,--cynically, perhaps, and searching into the marrows of men\nand times he spoke of, to his discomfort mostly and avoidance.\n\nNature, poetry, life,--not politics, not strict science, not society\nas it is,--were his preferred themes. The world was holy, the things\nseen symbolizing the things unseen, and thus worthy of worship, calling\nmen out-of-doors and under the firmament for health and wholesomeness\nto be insinuated into their souls, not as idolators, but as idealists.\nHis religion was of the most primitive type, inclusive of all natural\ncreatures and things, even to \"the sparrow that falls to the ground,\"\nthough never by shot of his, and for whatsoever was manly in men, his\nworship was comparable to that of the priests and heroes of all time. I\nshould say he inspired the sentiment of love, if, indeed, the sentiment\ndid not seem to partake of something purer, were that possible, but\nnameless from its excellency. Certainly he was better poised and more\nnearly self-reliant than other men.\n\n    \"The happy man who lived content\n    With his own town, his continent,\n    Whose chiding streams its banks did curb\n    As ocean circumscribes its orb,\n    Round which, when he his walk did take,\n    Thought he performed far more than Drake;\n    For other lands he took less thought\n    Than this his muse and mother brought.\"\n\nMore primitive and Homeric than any American, his style of thinking was\nrobust, racy, as if Nature herself had built his sentences and seasoned\nthe sense of his paragraphs with her own vigor and salubrity. Nothing\ncan be spared from them; there is nothing superfluous; all is compact,\nconcrete, as nature is.\n\nHis politics were of a piece with his individualism. We must admit that\nhe found little in political or religious establishments answering to\nhis wants, that his attitude was defiant, if not annihilating, as if he\nhad said to himself:--\n\n\"The state is man's pantry at most, and filled at an enormous cost,--a\nspoliation of the human commonwealth. Let it go. Heroes can live on\nnuts, and freemen sun themselves in the clefts of rocks, rather than\nsell their liberty for this pottage of slavery. We, the few honest\nneighbors, can help one another; and should the state ask any favors\nof us, we can take the matter into consideration leisurely, and at our\nconvenience give a respectful answer.\n\n\"But why require a state to protect one's rights? the man is all. Let\nhim husband himself; needs he other servant or runner? Self-keeping is\nthe best economy. That is a great age when the state is nothing and man\nis all. He founds himself in freedom, and maintains his uprightness\ntherein; founds an empire and maintains states. Just retire from\nthose concerns, and see how soon they must needs go to pieces, the\nsooner for the virtue thus withdrawn from them. All the manliness of\nindividuals is sunk in that partnership in trade. Not only must I come\nout of institutions, but come out of myself, if I will be free and\nindependent. Shall one be denied the privilege on coming of mature age\nof choosing whether he will be a citizen of the country he happens to\nbe born in, or another? And what better title to a spot of ground than\nbeing a man, and having none? Is not man superior to state or country?\nI plead exemption from all interference by men or states with my\nindividual prerogatives. That is mine which none can steal from me, nor\nis that yours which I or any man can take away.\"\n\n    \"I am too high born to be propertied,\n    To be a secondary at control,\n    Or useful serving man and instrument\n    To any sovereign state throughout the world.\"\n\nA famous speech is recorded of an old Norseman thoroughly\ncharacteristic of this Teuton. \"I believe neither in idols nor demons;\nI put my sole trust in my own strength of body and soul.\" The ancient\ncrest of a pick-axe, with the motto, \"Either I will find a way or\nmake one,\" characterizes the same sturdy independence and practical\nmaterialism which distinguishes the descendants of Thor, whose symbol\nwas a hammer.\n\nHe wrote in his Journal:--\n\n\"Perhaps I am descended from the Northman named Thorer, the dog-footed.\nHe was the most powerful man of the North. To judge from his name,\n_Thorer Hund_ belonged to the same family. Thorer is one of the most,\nif not the most common name in the chronicles of the Northmen. Sn\u00f6rro\nSturleson says, 'from Thor's name comes Thorer, also Thorarimnn.'\nAgain, 'Earl Rognvald was King Harald's dearest friend, and the king\nhad the greatest regard for him. He was married to Hilda, a daughter\nof Rolf Nalfia, and their sons were Rolf and Thorer. Rolf became a\ngreat Viking, and of so stout a growth that no horse could carry him,\nand wheresoever he went, he went on foot, and therefore he was called\nGange-Rolf.' Laing says in a note, what Sturleson also tells in the\ntext, 'Gange-Rolf, Rolf-Ganger, Rolf the walker, was the conqueror of\nNormandy. Gange-Rolf's son was William, father of Richard, who was the\nfather of Richard Longspear, and grandfather of William the Bastard,\nfrom whom the following English kings are descended.'\"\n\n\"King Harald set Earl Rognvald's son Thorer over M\u00f6re, and gave him\nhis daughter Alof in marriage. Thorer, called the Silent, got the same\nterritory his father Rognvald had possessed. His brother Einar going\ninto battle to take vengeance on his father's murderers, sang a kind of\nreproach against his brothers, Rollang and Rolf, for their slowness,\nand concludes:--\n\n    'And silent Thorer sits and dreams\n    At home, beside the mead bowl's streams.'\n\n\"Of himself it is related, that 'he cut a spread eagle on the back of\nhis enemy Halfdan.'\n\n\"So it seems that from one branch of the family were descended the\nkings of England, and from the other, myself.\"\n\nIn his journal I find these lines:--\n\n    \"Light-headed, thoughtless, shall I take my way\n    When I to Thee this being have resigned;\n    Well knowing when upon a future day,\n    With usurer's trust, more than myself to find.\"\n\n  NOTE. \"Thoreau was born in Concord on the 12th of July, 1817.\n  The old-fashioned house, its roof nearly reaching to the ground\n  in the rear, remains as it was when he first saw the light in\n  the easternmost of its upper chambers. It was the residence of\n  his grandmother, and a perfect piece of our New-England style\n  of building, with its gray, unpainted boards, its grassy,\n  unfenced door-yard. The house is somewhat isolate and remote from\n  thoroughfares. The Virginia road is an old-fashioned, winding, at\n  length deserted pathway, the more smiling for its forked orchards,\n  tumbling walks, and mossy banks. About the house are pleasant,\n  sunny meadows, deep with their beds of peat, so cheering with its\n  homely, heath-like fragrance, and in its front runs a constant stream\n  through the centre of that great tract sometimes called 'Bedford\n  Levels,'--this brook a source of the Shawsheen River. It was lovely\n  that he should draw his first breath in a pure country air, out of\n  crowded towns, amid the pleasant russet fields.\n\n  \"His parents were active, vivacious people; his grandfather, by\n  his father's side, coming from the Isle of Jersey, a Frenchman and\n  Catholic, who married a Scotch woman named Jennie Burns. On his\n  mother's side the descent is from the well-known Jones family of\n  Weston, Mass., and the Rev. Charles Dunbar, a graduate of Harvard\n  College, who preached in Salem, and at length settled in Keene, New\n  Hampshire. As variable an ancestry as can well be afforded, with\n  marked family characters on both sides. About a year and a half from\n  Henry's birth, the family removed to the town of Chelmsford, thence\n  to Boston, coming back, however, to Concord when he was of a very\n  tender age; his earliest memory of most of the town was a ride to\n  Walden Pond with his grandmother, when he thought that he should\n  be glad to live there. He retained a peculiar pronunciation of the\n  letter R, with a decided French accent. He says, 'September is the\n  fifth month with a burr in it.' His great-grandmother's name was\n  Marie le Galais, and his grandfather, John Thoreau, was baptized\n  April 28, 1754, and partook of the Catholic sacrament in the parish\n  of St. Helier, Isle of Jersey, in May, 1773. Thus near to old France\n  and the church was our Yankee boy.\n\n  \"A moment may be spent on a few traits of Thoreau, of a personal\n  kind. In height he was about the average. In his build, spare, with\n  limbs that were rather longer than usual, or of which he made a\n  longer use. His face once seen could not be forgotten; the features\n  quite marked, the nose aquiline, or very Roman, like one of the\n  portraits of C\u00e6sar (more like a beak, as was said), large overhanging\n  brows above the deepest-set blue eyes that could be seen,--blue in\n  certain lights, and in others gray,--eyes expressive of all shades of\n  feeling, but never weak or near-sighted; the forehead not unusually\n  broad or high, full of concentrated energy and purpose; the mouth,\n  with prominent lips, pursed up with meaning and thought when shut,\n  and giving out when open a stream of the most varied and unusual\n  and instructive sayings. His hair was a dark brown, exceedingly\n  abundant, fine, and soft, and for several years he wore a comely\n  beard. His whole figure had an active earnestness as if he had not\n  a moment to waste. The clenched hand betokened purpose. In walking\n  he made a short cut if he could, and when sitting in the shade, or\n  by the wall-side, seemed merely the clearer to look forward into the\n  next piece of activity. Even in the boat he had a wary, transitory\n  air, his eyes on the lookout; perhaps there might be ducks, or the\n  Blondin turtle, or an otter, or sparrow. He was a plain man in his\n  features and dress,--one who could not be mistaken, and this kind of\n  plainness is not out of keeping with beauty. He sometimes went as far\n  as homeliness, which again, even if there be a prejudice against it,\n  shines out at times beyond a vulgar beauty.\"\n\n  W. ELLERY CHANNING.\n\n\n\n\nSELF-PRIVACY.\n\n\n  THURSDAY, 8.\n\n    \"A sweet self-privacy in a right soul\n    Outruns the earth, and lines the utmost pole.\"\n\nFor a diary, slight arches will suffice to convey the day's freight\nacross; the lighter these, the speedier and more graceful the transit.\nAny current event, passing thought, rumor, were transportable, if\nsimply dispatched. And the more significant, as the more familiar and\nprivate. Life were the less sweet and companionable if cumbered with\naffairs, overloaded with thought, dizzied with anxieties. Better the\nquiet temper that takes the days as they pass, and as if an eternity\nwere vouchsafed for completing one's task, the time too short to waste\nin murmurs or postponements.\n\n    \"Cares, like eclipses, darken our endeavors;\n    Our duties are our best gods.\"\n\nA quiet life furnishes little of incident; dealing with thoughts and\nthings in a meditative manner, it has the less for those who have a\nmore stirring stake in current affairs. Yet one fancies that what\ninterests himself may interest others of like mind, if not of like\npursuits; and more especially when, as in a diary, he writes only of\nwhat has some real or imagined relation to what concerns him. His\nrecord may be careless, inconsequent, like the days it chronicles,\nwith but the slender thread of sleep connecting its leaves; or perhaps\nthe newspaper, once an accident, and coming irregularly, links his\nevening with morning, morning with evening; newspaper before breakfast,\nbefore business, before sleep; daily bread. One almost defines his\nculture, his social standing, by the journals he takes. Observe the\ndifference between persons and neighborhoods familiar with current\nnewspapers and those who are not. Very different from the times when\na country boy must ride his miles after his Saturday's work to get\nsome glimmering of what was passing in the great world around him;\nbefore libraries and lectures were established, steam and lightning\nwere carriers and couriers for all mankind. No life is insular now.\nEvery thought resounds throughout the globe. Electricity competes\nwith thought in the race. The telegraph, locomotive, the press,\nrender cabinets and colleges almost superfluous. Travel makes all\nmen countrymen, makes people noblemen and kings, every man tasting\nof liberty and dominion. And who but the kings themselves can unking\nthemselves?\n\nStill, like most things, our periodical literature is far from being\na pure benefit, and one may quote Plato's saying as applicable to the\nsuperficial culture which this of itself fosters: \"Total ignorance\nwere in no wise a thing so vile and wicked, nor the greatest of evils;\nbut multifarious knowledge and learning acquired under bad management,\ncauses much more harm.\"\n\nRather what is thought and spoken in drawing-rooms, clubs, in private\nassemblies, best intimates the spirit and tendencies of a community.\nThings are known but at second-hand as represented in public prints,\nor spoken on platforms. Admitted to private houses, one may report\naccurately the census of civility, and cast the horoscope of the coming\ntime. Nor do I sympathize with some of my friends in their dislike\nof reporters. One defends himself from intrusion, as a general rule;\nbut where the public have a generous interest in one's thoughts, his\noccupations and manners, the discourtesy is rather in withholding these\nfrom any false modesty. Besides, the version is more likely to be\nnearer the truth than if left to chance curiosity, which piques itself\nall the more on getting what was thus withheld, with any additions the\nmood favors.\n\n\n\n\nSUNDAY LECTURES.\n\n\n  SUNDAY, 11.\n\nThe course of Sunday lectures at Horticultural Hall opened in January\ncloses to-day. They have proved a brilliant success. Each speaker\nhas attracted, besides the body of steady attendants, his personal\nfriends, thus varying the audiences from Sunday to Sunday, and giving\nan example of varied teaching unprecedented in our time. The reports\nof these discourses, imperfect as they are, deserve preservation. They\nhave relation to the drift of thinking in our New-England community\nespecially, and are of historical importance. If not accepting all\nthat has been spoken on this platform by the successive speakers,\none may take a hearty interest in these adventures into the world of\nthought and duty; nor can any who have attended steadily from Sunday\nto Sunday question their serving a religious need of the time. The\nviews of persons, distinguished as are most of the speakers, are not\ninsignificant, since these are not among the least of the influences\nsecretly, if not openly, moulding the manners and institutions of a\ncommunity in which the thoughts and aims of the humblest individuals\nhave weight, and the young are so eager to learn of their thoughtful\nelders.\n\nWhen I recollect the ardor with which I sought the acquaintance of\nthose whom I imagined had ideas to communicate, and my delight in such\nwhen found, I am led to think how very desirable were an institution to\nwhich young students might resort during such portion of the year as\nmight be most convenient, to enjoy the fellowship of some of our most\ncultivated persons,--scholarships being provided for such as had not\nthe means of defraying the necessary expenses,--thus enabling bright\nyoung men and women, whether college graduates or not, to complete what\ncolleges do not give. Not every student comes into that intellectual\nsympathy with his professor, which renders instruction most enjoyable,\nyet without which the highest ends of culture are not attained. With\na faculty composed of persons whose names a moment's thought will\nsuggest, opportunities would be given for that sympathetic communion of\nmind with mind in which all living instruction and influence consist.\n\n\n\n\nEMERSON.\n\n\n  TUESDAY, 13.\n\nEmerson has lately completed a course of readings on English Poetry\nto an appreciative company in Boston. It is a variation of his method\nof communicating with his companies, and not less becoming than even\nhis usual form of lecture. It matters not in his case; for such is the\ncharm of his manner, that wherever he appears, the cultured class will\ndelight in his utterances; and one may quote Socrates in Ph\u00e6drus, where\nPlato makes him say, \"For as men lead hungry creatures by holding out a\ngreen bough, or an apple, so you, Ph\u00e6drus, it would seem, might lead me\nabout all Attica, and, indeed, wherever else you please, by extending\nto me discourses out of your books.\" Not less aptly Goethe describes\nhim, in his letters to Schiller, where he calls the rhapsodist, \"A\nwise man, who, in calm thoughtfulness, shows what has happened; his\ndiscourse aiming less to excite than to calm his auditors, in order\nthat they shall listen to him with contentment and long. He apportions\nthe interest equally, because it is not in his power to balance a too\nlively impression. He grasps backwards and forwards at pleasure. He\nis followed, because he has only to do with the imagination, which\nof itself produces images, and which, up to a certain degree, is\nindifferent what kind he calls up. He does not appear to his auditors,\nbut recites, as it were, behind a curtain; so there is a total\nabstraction from himself, and it seems to them as though they heard\nonly the voice of the Muses.\"\n\nSee our Ion standing there, his audience, his manuscript before him,\nhimself also an auditor, as he reads, of the Genius sitting behind him,\nand to whom he defers, eagerly catching the words,--the words,--as if\nthe accents were first reaching his ears too, and entrancing alike\noracle and auditor. We admire the stately sense, the splendor of\ndiction, and are charmed as we listen. Even his hesitancy between\nthe delivery of his periods, his perilous passages from paragraph to\nparagraph of manuscript, we have almost learned to like, as if he were\nbut sorting his keys meanwhile for opening his cabinets; the spring of\nlocks following, himself seeming as eager as any of us to get sight\nof his specimens as they come forth from their proper drawers, and we\nwait willingly till his gem is out glittering; admire the setting, too,\nscarcely less than the jewel itself. The magic minstrel and speaker,\nwhose rhetoric, voiced as by organ-stops, delivers the sentiment from\nhis breast in cadences peculiar to himself; now hurling it forth on the\near, echoing; then, as his mood and matter invite, dying away, like\n\n            \"Music of mild lutes,\n            Or silver-coated flutes,\n    Or the concealing winds that can convey\n    Never their tone to the rude ear of day.\"\n\nHe works his miracles with it, as Hermes did, his voice conducting\nthe sense alike to eye and ear by its lyrical movement and refraining\nmelody. So his compositions affect us, not as logic linked in\nsyllogisms, but as voluntaries rather, as preludes, in which one is not\ntied to any design of air, but may vary his key or note at pleasure, as\nif improvised without any particular scope of argument; each period,\nparagraph, being a perfect note in itself, however it may chance chime\nwith its accompaniments in the piece, as a waltz of wandering stars,\na dance of Hesperus with Orion. His rhetoric dazzles by its circuits,\ncontrasts, antitheses; imagination, as in all sprightly minds, being\nhis wand of Power. He comes along his own paths, too, and in his own\nfashion. What though he build his piers downwards from the firmament\nto the tumbling tides, and so throw his radiant span across the\nfissures of his argument, and himself pass over the frolic arches,\nAriel-wise,--is the skill less admirable, the masonry the less secure\nfor its singularity? So his books are best read as irregular writings,\nin which the sentiment is, by his enthusiasm, transfused throughout the\npiece, telling on the mind in cadences of a current undersong, giving\nthe impression of a connected whole,--which it seldom is,--such is the\nrhapsodist's cunning in its structure and delivery.\n\nThe highest compliment we can pay the scholar is that of having\nedified and instructed us, we know not how, unless by the pleasure\nhis words have given us. Conceive how much the lyceum owes to his\npresence and teachings; how great the debt of many to him for their\nhour's entertainment. His, if any one's, let the institution pass\ninto history, since his art, more than another's, has clothed it with\nbeauty, and made it the place of popular resort, our purest organ of\nintellectual entertainment for New England and the Western cities.\nAnd besides this, its immediate value to his auditors everywhere, it\nhas been serviceable in ways they least suspect; most of his works,\nhaving had their first readings on its platform, were here fashioned\nand polished, in good part, like Plutarch's morals, to become the more\nacceptable to readers of his published books. Does it matter what topic\nhe touches? He adorns all with a severe sententious beauty, a freshness\nand sanction next to that of godliness, if not that in spirit and\neffect.\n\n    \"The princely mind, that can\n    Teach man to keep a God in man;\n    And when wise poets would search out to see\n    Good men, behold them all in thee.\"\n\n'Tis over thirty years since his first book was printed. Then followed\nvolumes of essays, poems, orations, addresses; and during all the\nintervening period, down to the present, he has read briefs of his\nlectures through a wide range, from Canada to the Capitol; in most\nof the Free States; in the large cities, East and West, before large\naudiences; in the smallest towns, and to the humblest companies. Such\nhas been his appeal to the mind of his countrymen, such his acceptance\nby them. He has read lectures in the principal cities of England\nalso. A poet, speaking to individuals as few others can speak, and to\npersons in their privileged moments, he is heard as none others are.\nThe more personal he is, the more prevailing, if not the more popular.\n'Tis everything to have a true believer in the world, dealing with men\nand matters as if they were divine in idea and real in fact; meeting\npersons and events at a glance directly, not at a millionth remove, and\nso passing fair and fresh into life and literature.\n\nConsider how largely our letters have been enriched by his\ncontributions. Consider, too, the change his views have wrought in our\nmethods of thinking; how he has won over the bigot, the unbeliever,\nat least to tolerance and moderation, if not acknowledgment, by his\ncircumspection and candor of statement.\n\n            \"His shining armor,\n            A perfect charmer;\n        Even the hornets of divinity\n        Allow him a brief space,\n        And his thought has a place\n    Upon the well-bound library's chaste shelves,\n    Where man of various wisdom rarely delves.\"\n\nPoet and moralist, he has beauty and truth for all men's edification\nand delight. His works are studies. And any youth of free senses and\nfresh affections shall be spared years of tedious toil, in which\nwisdom and fair learning are, for the most part, held at arm's-length,\nplanets' width, from his grasp, by graduating from this college. His\nbooks are surcharged with vigorous thoughts, a sprightly wit. They\nabound in strong sense, happy humor, keen criticisms, subtile insights,\nnoble morals, clothed in a chaste and manly diction, fresh with the\nbreath of health and progress.\n\nWe characterize and class him with the moralists who surprise us\nwith an accidental wisdom, strokes of wit, felicities of phrase,--as\nPlutarch, Seneca, Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius, Saadi, Montaigne, Bacon,\nSelden, Sir Thomas Browne, Cowley, Coleridge, Goethe,--with whose\ndelightful essays, notwithstanding all the pleasure they give us, we\nstill plead our disappointment at not having been admitted to the\ncloser intimacy which these loyal leaves had with their owners' mind\nbefore torn from his note-books, jealous, even, at not having been\ntaken into his confidence in the editing itself.\n\nWe read, never as if he were the dogmatist, but a fair-speaking\nmind, frankly declaring his convictions, and committing these to our\nconsideration, hoping we may have thought like things ourselves;\noftenest, indeed, taking this for granted as he wrote. There is nothing\nof the spirit of proselyting, but the delightful deference ever to\nour free sense and right of opinion. He might take for his motto\nthe sentiment of Henry More, where, speaking of himself, he says:\n\"Exquisite disquisition begets diffidence; diffidence in knowledge,\nhumility; humility, good manners and meek conversation. For my part,\nI desire no man to take anything I write or speak upon trust without\ncanvassing, and would be thought rather to propound than to assert\nwhat I have here or elsewhere written or spoken. But continually to\nhave expressed my diffidence in the very tractates and colloquies\nthemselves, had been languid and ridiculous.\"\n\nThen he has chosen proper times and manners for saying his good things;\nhas spoken to almost every great interest as it rose. Nor has he let\nthe good opportunities pass unheeded, or failed to make them for\nhimself. He has taken discretion along as his constant attendant and\nally; has shown how the gentlest temper ever deals the surest blows.\nHis method is that of the sun against his rival for the cloak, and so\nis free from any madness of those, who, forgetting the strength of the\nsolar ray, go blustering against men's prejudices, as if the wearers\nwould run at once against these winds of opposition into their arms for\nshelter. What higher praise can we bestow on any one than to say of\nhim, that he harbors another's prejudices with a hospitality so cordial\nas to give him for the time the sympathy next best to, if, indeed, it\nbe not edification in, charity itself? For what disturbs more, and\ndistracts mankind, than the uncivil manners that cleave man from man?\nYet, for whose amendment letters, love, Christianity, were all given!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThere is a virtuous curiosity felt by readers of remarkable books to\nlearn something more of their author's literary tastes, habits, and\ndispositions, than these ordinarily furnish. Yet to gratify this is a\ntask as difficult as delicate, requiring a diffidency akin to that with\nwhich one would accost the author himself, and without which graceful\narmor it were impertinent for a friend even to undertake it. We may\nventure but a stroke or two here.\n\nAll men love the country who love mankind with a wholesome love,\nand have poetry and company in them. Our essayist makes good this\npreference. If city bred, he has been for the best part of his life\na villager and countryman. Only a traveller at times professionally,\nhe prefers home-keeping; is a student of the landscape, of mankind,\nof rugged strength wherever found; liking plain persons, plain ways,\nplain clothes; prefers earnest people; shuns egotists, publicity; likes\nsolitude, and knows its uses. Courting society as a spectacle not less\nthan a pleasure, he carries off the spoils. Delighting in the broadest\nviews of men and things, he seeks all accessible displays of both for\ndraping his thoughts and works. And how is his page produced? Is it\nimaginable that he conceives his piece as a whole, and then sits down\nto execute his task at a heat? Is not this imaginable rather, and the\nkey to the construction of his works? Living for composition as few\nauthors can, and holding company, studies, sleep, exercise, affairs,\nsubservient to thought, his products are gathered as they ripen,\nstored in his commonplaces; their contents transcribed at intervals,\nand classified. It is the order of ideas, of imagination observed\nin the arrangement, not of logical sequence. You may begin at the\nlast paragraph and read backwards. 'Tis Iris-built. Each period is\nself-poised; there may be a chasm of years between the opening passage\nand the last written, and there is endless time in the composition.\nJewels all! Separate stars. You may have them in a galaxy, if you like,\nor view them separate and apart. But every one finds that, if he take\nan essay, or verses, however the writer may have pleased himself with\nthe cunning workmanship, 'tis cloud-fashioned, and a blind pathway for\nany one else. Cross as you can, or not cross, it matters not, you may\nclimb or leap, move in circles, turn somersaults;\n\n    \"In sympathetic sorrow sweep the ground,\"\n\nlike his swallow in Hermione. Dissolving views, prospects, vistas\nopening wide and far, yet earth, sky,--realities all, not illusions.\nHere is substance, sod, sun; much fair weather in the seer as in\nhis leaves. The whole quaternion of the seasons, the sidereal year,\nhas been poured into these periods. Afternoon walks furnished their\nperspectives, rounded and melodized them. These good things have been\ntalked and slept over, meditated standing and sitting, read and\npolished in the utterance, submitted to all various tests, and, so\naccepted, they pass into print. Light fancies, dreams, moods, refrains,\nwere set on foot, and sent jaunting about the fields, along wood-paths,\nby Walden shores, by hill and brook-sides, to come home and claim their\nrank and honors too in his pages. Composed of surrounding matters,\npopulous with thoughts, brisk with images, these books are wholesome,\nhomelike, and could have been written only in New England, and by our\npoet.\n\n    \"Because I was content with these poor fields,\n    Low, open meads, slender and sluggish streams,\n    And found a home in haunts which others scorned,\n    The partial wood-gods overpaid my love,\n    And granted me the freedom of their state,\n    And in their secret senate have prevailed\n    With the dear, dangerous lords that rule our life,\n    Made moon and planets parties to their bond,\n    And through my rock-like, solitary wont\n    Shot million rays of thought and tenderness.\n    For me, in showers, in sweeping showers, the spring\n    Visits the valley;--break away the clouds,--\n    I bathe in the morn's soft and silvered air,\n    And loiter willing by yon loitering stream.\n    Sparrows far off, and nearer, April's bird,\n    Blue-coated, flying before from tree to tree,\n    Courageous, sing a delicate overture\n    To lead the tardy concert of the year.\n    Onward and nearer rides the sun of May;\n    And wide around, the marriage of the plants\n    Is sweetly solemnized. Then flows amain\n    The surge of summer's beauty; dell and crag,\n    Hollow and lake, hill-side, and pine arcade,\n    Are touched with Genius. Yonder ragged cliff\n    Has thousand faces in a thousand hours.\n\n                  ... The gentle deities\n    Showed me the lore of colors and of sounds,\n    The innumerable tenements of beauty,\n    The miracle of generative force,\n    Far-reaching concords of astronomy\n    Felt in the plants and in the punctual birds;\n    Better, the linked purpose of the whole,\n    And, chiefest prize, found I true liberty\n    In the glad home plain-dealing nature gave.\n    The polite found me impolite; the great\n    Would mortify me, but in vain; for still\n    I am a willow of the wilderness,\n    Loving the wind that bent me. All my hurts\n    My garden spade can heal. A woodland walk,\n    A quest of river-grapes, a mocking thrush,\n    A wild-rose, or rock-loving columbine,\n    Salve my worst wounds.\n    For thus the wood-gods murmured in my ear:\n    'Dost love our manners? Canst thou silent lie?\n    Canst thou, thy pride forgot, like nature pass\n    Into the winter night's extinguished mood?\n    Canst thou shine now, then darkle,\n    And being latent feel thyself no less?\n    As, when the all-worshipped moon attracts the eye,\n    The river, hill, stems, foliage, are obscure,\n    Yet envies none, none are unenviable.'\"\n\nI know of but one subtraction from the pleasure the reading of his\nbooks--shall I say his conversation?--gives me,--his pains to be\nimpersonal or discrete, as if he feared any the least intrusion of\nhimself were an offence offered to self-respect, the courtesy due to\nintercourse and authorship; thus depriving his page, his company, of\nattractions the great masters of both knew how to insinuate into their\ntext and talk without overstepping the bounds of social or literary\ndecorum. What is more delightful than personal magnetism? 'Tis the\ncharm of good fellowship as of good writing. To get and to give the\nlargest measure of satisfaction, to fill ourselves with the nectar\nof select experiences, not without some intertinctures of egotism so\ncharming in a companion, is what we seek in books of the class of his,\nas in their authors. We associate diffidence properly with learning,\nfrankness with fellowship, and owe a certain blushing reverence to\nboth. For though our companion be a bashful man,--and he is the worse\nif wanting this grace,--we yet wish him to be an enthusiast behind all\nreserves, and capable of abandonment sometimes in his books. I know\nhow rare this genial humor is, this frankness of the blood, and how\nsurpassing are the gifts of good spirits, especially here in cold New\nEngland, where, for the most part,\n\n                        \"Our virtues grow\n    Beneath our humors, and at seasons show.\"\n\nAnd yet, under our east winds of reserve, there hides an obscure\ncourtesy in the best natures, which neither temperament nor breeding\ncan spoil. Sometimes manners the most distant are friendly foils for\nholding eager dispositions subject to the measures of right behavior.\n'Tis not every New-Englander that dares venture upon the frankness, the\nplain speaking, commended by the Greek poet.\n\n    \"Caress me not with words, while far away\n    Thy heart is absent, and thy feelings stray;\n    But if thou love me with a faithful breast,\n    Be that pure love with zeal sincere exprest;\n    And if thou hate, the bold aversion show\n    With open face avowed, and known my foe.\"\n\nFortunate the visitor who is admitted of a morning for the high\ndiscourse, or permitted to join the poet in his afternoon walks to\nWalden, the cliffs, or elsewhere,--hours likely to be remembered as\nunlike any others in his calendar of experiences. I may say for me\nthey have made ideas possible by hospitalities given to a fellowship\nso enjoyable. Shall I describe them as sallies oftenest into the\ncloud-lands, into scenes and intimacies ever new, none the less novel\nor remote than when first experienced, colloquies, in favored moments,\non themes, perchance,\n\n    \"Of Fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute;\"\n\nnor yet\n\n    \"In wand'ring mazes lost,\"\n\nas in Milton's page;\n\n    But pathways plain through starry alcoves high,\n    Or thence descending to the level plains.\n\nInterviews, however, bringing their trail of perplexing thoughts,\ncosting some days' duties, several nights' sleep oftentimes to restore\none to his place and poise for customary employment; half a dozen\nannually being full as many as the stoutest heads may well undertake\nwithout detriment. Certainly safer not to venture without the sure\ncredentials, unless one will have his pretensions pricked, his conceits\nreduced to their vague dimensions.\n\n    \"Fools have no means to meet\n    But by their feet.\"\n\nBut to the modest, the ingenuous, the gifted, welcome! Nor can any\nbearing be more poetic and polite than his to all such, to youth and\naccomplished women especially. I may not intrude further than to\nsay, that, beyond any I have known, his is a faith approaching to\nsuperstition concerning admirable persons, the divinity of friendship\ncome down from childhood, and surviving yet in memory if not in\nexpectation, the rumor of excellence of any sort being like the arrival\nof a new gift to mankind, and he the first to proffer his recognition\nand hope. His affection for conversation, for clubs, is a lively\nintimation of this religion of fellowship. He, shall we say, if any,\nmust have taken the census of the admirable people of his time, perhaps\nnumbering as many among his friends as most living Americans, while\nhe is recognized as the representative mind of his country, to whom\ndistinguished foreigners are especially commended on visiting us.\n\nOf Emerson's books I am not here designing to speak critically, rather\nof his genius and personal influence; yet, in passing, may remark that\nhis \"English Traits\" deserves to be honored as one in which England,\nOld and New, may alike take national pride as being the liveliest\nportraiture of British genius and accomplishments there is,--a book,\nlike Tacitus, to be quoted as a masterpiece of historical painting, and\nperpetuating the New-Englander's fame with that of his race. 'Tis a\nvictory of eyes over hands, a triumph of ideas. Nor has there been for\nsome time any criticism of a people so characteristic and complete. It\nremains for him to do like justice to New England. Not a metaphysician,\nand rightly discarding any claims to systematic thinking; the poet in\nspirit, if not always in form; the consistent idealist, yet the realist\nnone the less,--he has illustrated the learning and thought of former\ntimes on the noblest themes, coming nearest of any to emancipating the\nmind of his own from the errors and dreams of past ages.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPlutarch tells us that of old they were wont to call men [Greek:\nph\u00f4ta], which imports light, not only for the vehement desire man has\nto know, but to communicate also. And the Platonists fancied that the\ngods, being above men, had something whereof man did not partake,\npure intellect and knowledge, and they kept on their way quietly. The\nbeasts, being below men, had something whereof man had less, sense and\ngrowth, so they lived quietly in their way. While man had something\nin him whereof neither gods nor beasts had any trace, which gave him\nall the trouble, and made all the confusion in the world,--and that was\negotism and opinion.\n\nA finer discrimination of gifts might show that Genius ranges through\nthis threefold dominion, partaking in turn of their essence and degrees.\n\nWas our poet planted so fast in intellect, so firmly rooted in the\nmind, so dazzled with light, yet so cleft withal by duplicity of gifts,\nthat fated thus to traverse the mid-world of contrast and contrariety,\nhe was ever glancing forth from his coverts at life as reflected\nthrough his dividing prism, the resident never long of the tracts he\nsurveyed, yet their persistent Muse nevertheless? And so housed in the\nMind, and sallying forth from thence in quest of his game, whether of\npersons or things, he was the Mercury, the merchantman of ideas to his\ncentury. Nor was he personally alone in his thinking. Beside him stood\nhis townsman, whose sylvan intelligence, fast rooted in Nature, was yet\narmed with a sagacity, a subtlety and strength, that penetrated while\ndivining the essences of creatures and things he studied, and of which\nhe seemed Atlas and Head.\n\nForcible protestants against the materialism of their own, as of\npreceding times, these masterly Idealists substantiate beyond all\nquestion their right to the empires they sway,--the rich estates of an\noriginal Genius.\n\n\n\n\nRECREATION.\n\n\n  FRIDAY, 16.\n\nA-field all summer, all winter in-doors, was the Anglo-Saxon rule, and\nholds good for the Anglo-American to-day. Englishmen still, here in\nNew England we borrow, at some variance with the sun's courses, our\ncalendar from the old country. Ordinarily our seasons fall almost a\nmonth later, our winter hardly opening till New-year's, nor spring till\nAll Fools' Day, the date of which can hardly fall amiss, and with All\nSaints' may be left indefinite in wit's almanac. Doubtless there is a\ncloser sympathy than we suspect between souls and seasons. Sensitive to\nclimate within as weather without, our intelligence dips or rises as\nthe signs range from Aries to Pisces in the ideal ephemeris, measuring\nto faculty and member in turn the rising or falling tides, and so\ndetermining our solar and lunar periods.\n\n    \"'Tis not every day that I\n    Fitted am to prophesy;\n    No; but when the spirit fills\n    The fantastic pinnacles\n    Full of fire, then I write\n    As the Godhead doth indite.\n    Thus enraged, my lines are hurled,\n    Like the sibyls, through the world.\n    Look, how next the holy fire\n    Either slakes, or doth retire;\n    So the fancy carols, till when\n    That brave spirit comes again.\"\n\nNature is the best dictionary and school of eloquence; genius the\npupil of sun and stars, wood-lands, waters, the fields, the spectacle\nof things seen under all aspects, in all seasons and moods. Blot\nthese from his vision, and the scholar's page were of small account.\nLetters show pale and poor from inside chambers and halls of learning\nalone; and whoever will deal directly with ideas, is often abroad\nto import the stuff of things into his diction, and clothe them in\na rhetoric robust and racy, addressing the senses and mind at once.\nOne is surprised at finding how a little exercise, though taken\nfor the thousandth time, and along familiar haunts even, refreshes\nand strengthens body and mind. A turn about his grounds, a sally\ninto the woods, climbing the hill-top, sauntering by brook-sides,\nbrings him back with new senses and a new soul. One's handwriting\nbecomes illuminated as he turns his leaves, the thoughts standing out\ndistinctly, which before were blurred, and failed to show their import.\nThen his thought is sprightliest, and tells its tale firmly to the end.\nIt sets flowing what blood one has in his veins, quickening wonderfully\nhis circulations; he is valiant, humorsome, the soul prevailing in\nevery part, and he takes hope of himself and the world around him.\n\nAn open fire, too, that best of friends to greet him within doors for\nmost of the months; better than councils of friends to settle numerous\nquestions wont to smoulder and fret by an air-tight, or flash forth in\nno lovely manner at unexpected moments. And where else is conversation\npossible? A countryman without an open fire will consider whether he\ncan afford to spend himself and family to spare his wood-lot. It was\ncomforting to see the other day on a bookseller's counter, tiles of\nporcelain, with suggestive devices of the graceful hospitalities of the\nolden time, when every mantelpiece had its attractions of fable and\nverse, the conversation enhanced by the friendly blaze, around which\nthe family gathered and paid their devotions to friendships, human and\ndivine.\n\n    \"Go where I will, thou lucky Lar, stay here\n    Close by the glittering chimney all the year.\"\n\nThen, a country-seat for summer and a city residence for the winter\nwere desirable. For recreation, the due allowance taken from business,\nleisures as profitable as labors, alike enjoyable, and promoting the\nrelish for more.\n\n    \"Books, studies, business, entertain the light,\n    And sleep as undisturbed as death the night.\n    Acquaintance one would have, but when it depends\n    Not on the number, but the choice of friends.\n    His house a cottage more\n    Than palace, and should fitting be\n    For all his use, no luxury.\"\n\nOne's house should be roomy enough for his thought, for his family\nand guests; honor the ceilings, and geniality the hearthstone. Ample\napartments, a charming landscape and surroundings; these have their\ninfluence on the dispositions, the tastes, manners of the inmates,\nand are not to be left out of account. Yet, without nobility to grace\nthem, what were the costly palace, its parlors and parks, luxuries and\nelegancies, within or without,--the handsome house owing its chief\nbeauty to the occupants, the company, one's virtues and accomplishments\ndraw inside of the mansion; persons being the figures that grace the\nedifice, else unfurnished, and but a showy pile of ostentation and\nfolly, as desolate within as pretentious without.\n\n    \"Two things money cannot buy,\n    Breeding and integrity.\"\n\n\"It happens,\" says Plutarch, \"that neither rich furniture, nor\nmoveables, nor abundance of gold, nor descent from an illustrious\nfamily, nor greatness of authority, nor eloquence, and all the charms\nof speaking, can procure so great a serenity of life, as a mind free\nfrom guilt and kept untainted, not only from actions but from purposes\nthat are wicked. By this means the soul will be not only unpolluted,\nbut not disturbed; the fountain will run clear and unsullied, and\nthe streams that flow from it will be just and honest deeds, full of\nsatisfaction, a brisk energy of spirit which makes a man an enthusiast\nin his joy, and a tenacious memory sweeter than hope, which, as Pindar\nsays, 'with a virgin warmth cherishes old men.' For as shrubs which are\ncut down with morning dew upon them, do for a long time after retain\ntheir fragrance, so the good actions of a wise man perfume his mind\nand leave a rich scent behind them. So that joy is, as it were, watered\nwith those essences, and owes its flourishing to them.\"\n\n\n\n\nGENEALOGIES.\n\n\n  MONDAY, 19.\n\nOne values his chosen place of residence, whether he be a native or\nnot, less for its natural history and advantages than for its civil and\nsocial privileges.\n\n    \"The hills were reared, the rivers scooped in vain,\n    If learning's altars vanish from the plain.\"\n\nAnd all the more, if, while retaining the ancient manners, it cherish\nthe family sentiment against the straggling habits which separate\nmembers so widely in our times that intercourse is had seldomer than of\nold; names of kindred hardly surviving save in the fresh recollections\nof childhood by the dwellers apart; far more of life than we know being\nplanted fast in ancestral homes, the best of it associated with these,\nas if there were a geography of the affections that nothing could\nuproot.\n\nA people can hardly have attained to nationality till it knows its\nancestor and is not ashamed of its antecedents. If such studies were\nonce deemed beneath the dignity of an American, they are no longer.\nWe are not the less national for honoring our forefathers. Blood\nis a history. Blood is a destiny. How persistent it is, let the\ninstitutions of England, Old and New, bear testimony, since on this\nprerogative--call it race, rank, family, nature, culture, nationality,\nwhat you will--both peoples stand and pride themselves, lion and eagle,\nan impregnable Saxondom, a common speech, blazoning their descent.\n\n    \"Ours is the tongue the bards sang in of old,\n    And Druids their dark knowledge did unfold;\n    Merlin in this his prophesies did vent,\n    Which through the world of fame bear such extent.\n    Thus spake the son of Mars, and Britain bold,\n    Who first 'mongst Christian worthies is enrolled;\n    And many thousand more, whom but to name\n    Were but to syllable great Shakespeare's fame.\"\n\nA strong race, the blood flows boldly in its veins, truculent, if need\nbe, aggressive, and holding its own, as pronounced in the women as in\nthe men, here in New England as in Old, the dragon couchant and ready\nto spring in defence of privileges and titles; magnanimous none the\nless, and merciful, as in the times of St. George and Bonduca. One\nneeds but read Tacitus on the Manners of the Ancient Germans, to find\nthe parentage of traits which still constitute the Englishmen, Old and\nNew, showing how persistent, under every variety of geographical and\npolitical conditions, is the genius of races.\n\n'Tis due to every name that some one or more inheriting it should\nsearch out its traits and titles, as these descend along the stream\nof generations and reappear in individuals. And we best study the\nfortunes of families, of races and peoples, here at their sources. Even\nheraldries have their significance. And it is accounted the rule that\nnames are entitled to the better qualities of their emblazonries, each\nhaving something admirable and to be honored in its origin.[2]\n\n[Footnote 2: Verstegan, in his Restitution of Decayed Intelligence,\nin Antiquities concerning the most Noble and Renowned English Nation,\n1634, treating of the origin of names, says:--\n\n\"For a general rule, the reader may please to note, that our surnames\nof families, be they of one or more syllables, that have either a _k_\nor a _w_, are all of them of the ancient English race, so that neither\nthe _k_ or _w_ are used in Latin, nor in any of the three languages\nthereon depending, which sometimes causes confusion in the writing our\nnames (originally coming from the Teutonic) in Latin, Italian, French,\nand Spanish languages. Neither the _k_ nor _w_ being in the Latin\nnor in the French, they could not be with the Normans in use, whose\nlanguage was French, as also their surnames. As for the surnames in our\nNorman catalogue which have in them the letters _k_ and _w_, which the\nFrench do not use, these are not to be thought to have been Norman, but\nof those gentlemen of Flanders which Baldwin, the Earl of that country\nand father-in-law unto the Conquerer, did send to aid him. Besides\nthese, sundry other surnames do appear to have been in the Netherlands\nand not in Normandy; albeit they are without doubt set in the list of\nthe Normans. And whereas in searching for such as may remain in England\nof the race of the Danes, they are not such as, according to the vulgar\nopinion, have their surnames ending in _son_. In the Netherlands,\nit is often found that very many surnames end in _son_, as Johnson,\nWilliamson, Phillipson, and the like; _i. e._ sons of that name of\nJohn, etc.\n\n\"Then some have their surnames according to the color of hair or\ncomplexion, as white, black, brown, gray, and reddish; and those in\nwhom these names from such causes begin, do thereby lose their former\ndenomination. Some again for their surnames have the names of beasts;\nand it should seem for one thing or another wherein they represented\nsome property of theirs; as lion, wolf, fox, bull, buck, hare, hart,\nlamb, and the like. Others of birds; as cock, peacock, swan, crane,\nheron, partridge, dove, sparrow, and the like. Others of fish; as\nsalmon, herring, rock, pilchard, and the like. And albeit the ancestors\nof the bearers of these had in other times other surnames, yet because\nalmost all these and other like names do belong to our English tongue,\nI do think him to be of the ancient English, and if not all, yet the\nmost part. And here by occasion of these names, I must note, and that\nas it were for a general rule, _that what family soever has their first\nand chief coat of arms correspondent unto their surname, it is evident\nsign that it had that surname before it had those arms_.\"]\n\nThus the Cock is alike the herald of the dawn and sentinel of the\nnight; the emblem of watchfulness and of wisdom; of vigilance and of\nperseverance, and _Semper Vigilans_, the appropriate motto of family\narms bearing the name with its variations.\n\nSo the poet\n\n\n    OF THE COCK.\n\n    \"Father of Lights! what sunny seed,\n    What glance of day, hast thou confined\n    Unto this bird? To all the breed\n    This busy ray thou hast assigned;\n    Their magnetism works all night\n    And dreams of paradise and light,\n    It seems their candle howe'er done\n    Was tin'd and lighted at the sun.\"\n\n\n\n\nSCHOLARSHIP.\n\n\n  WEDNESDAY, 28.\n\n    Apart they sit, the better know,\n    Why towns and talk sway men below.\n\nFreedom from affairs, and leisure to entertain his thoughts, is the\nscholar's paradise. Hardly less the delight in comparing notes with\nanother in conversation. It is the chiefest of satisfactions this last,\nwhere sympathy is possible and perfect. One does not see his thought\ndistinctly till it is reflected in the image of another's. Personal\nperspective gives the distance necessary to bring out its significance.\n\"There are some,\" says Thoreau, \"whose ears help me so much that my\nthings have a rare significance when I read to them. It is almost too\ngood a hearing, so that, for the time, I regard my writing from too\nfavorable a point of view.\" Yet the criticism of admiration is far more\nacceptable and the more likely to be just than that of censure. Much\nlearning does not make an accomplished critic; taste, sensibility,\nsympathy, ideality, are indispensable. A man of talent may apprehend\nand judge fairly of works of his class. But genius alone comprehends\nand appreciates truly the works of genius.\n\nNor are all moods equally favorable for criticism. \"It may be owing to\nmy mood at the time,\" says Goethe, \"but it seems to me, that as well\nin treating of writings as of actions, unless one speak with a loving\nsympathy, a certain enthusiasm, the result is so defective as to have\nlittle value. Pleasure, delight, sympathy in things, is all that is\nreal; and that reproduces reality in us; all else is empty and vain.\"\nOne must seize the traits as they rise with the tender touch, else they\nelude and dissolve in the moment; pass into the obscurity out of which\nthey emerged, and are lost forever. Much depends upon this, that one\nmake the most of his time, and miss no propitious moods.\n\nRarely does one win a success with either tongue or pen. Of the books\nprinted, scarcely never the volume entire justifies its appearance in\ntype. Much is void of deep and permanent significance, touches nothing\nin one's experience, and fails to command attention. Even subjects\nof gravest quality, unless treated suggestively, find no place in a\npermanent literature. It is not enough that the thing is literally\ndefined, stated logically; it needs to be complemented ideally,--set\nforth in lucid imagery to tell the story to the end. Style carries\nweight oftentimes when seemingly light itself. Movement is necessary,\nwhile the logic is unapparent,--all the more profound and edifying as\nit appeals to and speaks from the deeper instincts, and so makes claims\nupon the reader's mind. That is good which stands strong in its own\nstrength, detached from local relations. So a book of thoughts suggests\nthought, edifies, inspires. Whatever interests at successive readings\nhas life in it, and deserves type and paper.\n\nMy code of composition stands thus, and this is my advice to whom it\nmay concern:--\n\nBurn every scrap that stands not the test of all moods of criticism.\nSuch lack longevity. What is left gains immensely. Such is the law.\nVery little of what is thought admirable at the writing holds good over\nnight. Sleep on your writing; take a walk over it; scrutinize it of\na morning; review it of an afternoon; digest it after a meal; let it\nsleep in your drawer a twelvemonth; never venture a whisper about it to\nyour friend, if he be an author especially. You may read selections to\nsensible women,--if young the better; and if it stand these trials, you\nmay offer it to a publisher, and think yourself fortunate if he refuse\nto print it. Then you may be sure you have written a book worthy of\ntype, and wait with assurance for a publisher and reader thirty years\nhence,--that is, when you are engaged in authorship that needs neither\ntype nor publisher.\n\n\"Learning,\" says Fuller, \"hath gained most by those books by which the\nprinters have lost.\" It must be an enlightened public that asks for\nworks the most enlightened publishers decline printing. A magazine were\nruined already if it reflected its fears only. Yet one cannot expect\nthe trade to venture reputation or money in spreading unpopular views.\n\nBen Jonson wrote to his bookseller:--\n\n    \"Thou that mak'st gain thy end, and wisely well\n    Call'st a book good or bad, as it doth sell,\n    Use mine so too; I give thee leave, but crave\n    For the luck's sake, it thus much favor have;--\n    To lie upon thy stall, till it be sought,\n    Not offered as it made suit to be bought;\n    Nor have my title page on posts or walls,\n    Or in cleft-sticks advanced to make calls\n    For termers, or some clerk-like serving man\n    Who scarce can spell the hard names, whose knight less can.\n    If, without these vile arts it will not sell,\n    Send it to Bucklersbury, there 't will, well.\"\n\nTime is the best critic, and the better for his intolerance of any\ninferiority. And fortunate for literature that he is thus choice and\nexacting. Books, like character, are works of time, and must run the\ngauntlet of criticism to gain enduring celebrity. The best books may\nsometimes wait for their half century, or longer, for appreciative\nreaders--create their readers; the few ready to appreciate these\nat their issue being the most enlightened of their time, and they\ndiffuse the light to their circle of readers. The torch of truth thus\ntransmitted sheds its light over hemispheres,--the globe at last.\n\n    \"Hail! native language, that with sinews weak\n    Didst move my first endeavoring tongue to speak,\n    And mad'st imperfect words with childish trips\n    Half unpronounced slide through my infant lips,\n    Driving dull silence from the portal door\n    Where he had mutely sat two years before--\n    Here I salute thee, and thy pardon ask\n    That now I use thee in my latter task.\n    Now haste thee strait to do me once a pleasure,\n    And from thy wardrobe bring thy chiefest treasure,\n    Not those new-fangled toys, and trimming slight,\n    Which takes our late fantastics with delight,\n    But cull those richest robes, and gay'st attire,\n    Which deepest spirits and choicest wits admire.\"\n\nThus wrote Milton at the age of nineteen, and made his college\nillustrious and the language afterwards. Yet the purest English is\nnot always spoken or written by graduates of universities. Speech is\nthe fruit of breeding and of character, and one shall find sometimes\nin remote rural districts the language spoken in its simplicity and\npurity, especially by sprightly boys and girls who have not been vexed\nwith their grammars and school tasks. Ours is one of the richest of\nthe spoken tongues; it may not be the simplest in structure and ease\nof attainment; yet this last may be facilitated by simple and natural\nmethods of studying it. Taught by masters like Ascham or Milton,\nstudents might acquire the art of speaking and of writing the language\nin its purity and elegance, as did these great masters in their day.\nAscham lays down this sensible rule: \"He that will write well in any\ntongue, must follow this advice of Aristotle: '_to speak as the common\npeople do, to think as wise men do, and so should every man understand\nhim, and the judgment of wise men about him_.'\"\n\nGeorge Chapman, the translator of Homer, thus speaks of the scholarly\npedantries of his time, of which ours affords too many examples:--\n\n    \"For as great clerks can use no English words,\n    Because (alas! great clerks) English affords,\n    Say they, no height nor copy,--a rude tongue,\n    Since 'tis their native,--but, in Greek and Latin\n    Their wits are rare, for thence true poesy sprung,\n    Through which, truth knows, they have but skill to chat in,\n    Compared with what they might have in their own.\"\n\nCamden said, \"that though our tongue may not be as sacred as the\nHebrew, nor as learned as the Greek, yet it is as fluent as the Latin,\nas courteous as the Spanish, as court-like as the French, and as\namorous as the Italian; so that being beautified and enriched out of\nthese tongues, partly by enfranchising and endenizing foreign words,\npartly by implanting new ones with artful composition, our tongue is as\ncopious, pithy, and significative as any in Europe.\"\n\nIf one would learn its riches at sight, let him glance along the pages\nof Richardson's Dictionary; and at the same time survey its history\nfrom Gower and Chaucer down to our time.\n\n\"If there be, what I believe there is,\" says Dr. Johnson, \"in every\nnation, a style which never becomes obsolete, a certain mode of\nphraseology so component and congenial to the analogy and principles\nof its respective language as to remain settled and unaltered; this\nstyle is probably to be sought in the common intercourse of life, among\nthose who speak only to be understood, without ambition of eloquence.\nThe polite are always catching modish expressions, and the learned\ndepart from established forms of speech, in hope of finding or making\nit better; those who wish for distinction forsake the vulgar when\nthe vulgar is right; but there is a conversation above grossness and\nbelow refinement, where propriety resides, and where Shakespeare seems\nto have gathered his comic dialogues. He is therefore more agreeable\nto the ears of the present age than any other author equally remote,\nand among his other excellences deserves to be studied as one of the\noriginal masters of the language.\"\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nMAY.\n\n\n    \"Sweet country life, to such unknown\n    Whose lives are others, not their own,\n    But serving courts and cities, be\n    Less happy, less enjoying thee.\"\n      --_Herrick._\n\n\n\n\nRURAL AFFAIRS\n\n\n  MONDAY, 3.\n\nFair spring days, the farmers beginning the planting of the season's\ncrops. One cannot well forego the pleasures which the culture of a\ngarden affords. He must have a little spot upon which to bestow his\naffections, and own his affinities with earth and sky. The profits in a\npecuniary way may be inconsiderable, but the pleasures are rewarding.\nFormerly I allowed neither hoe, spade, nor rake, not handled by myself,\nto approach my plants. But when one has put his garden within covers,\nto be handled in a book, he fancies he has earned the privilege of\ndelegating the tillage thereafter, in part, to other hands, and may\nplease himself with its superintendence; especially when he is so\nfortunate as to secure the services of any who can take their orders\nwithout debate, and execute them with dispatch; and if he care to\ncompare opinions with them, find they have views of their own, and\nrespect for his. And the more agreeable if they have a pleasant humor\nand the piety of lively spirits.\n\n    \"In laborer's ballads oft more piety\n    God finds than in _Te Deum's_ melody.\"\n\n\"When our ancestors,\" says Cato, \"praised a good man, they called him a\ngood agriculturist and a good husbandman; he was thought to be greatly\nhonored who was thus praised.\"\n\nWithout his plot of ground for tillage and ornamentation, a countryman\nseems out of place, its culture and keeping being the best occupation\nfor keeping himself wholesome and sweet. The garden is the tie uniting\nman and nature. How civic an orchard shows in a clearing,--a garden\nin a prairie, as if nature waited for man to arrive and complete\nher, by converting the wild into the human, and thus to marry beauty\nand utility on the spot! A house, too, without garden or orchard, is\nunfurnished, incomplete, does not fulfil our ideas of the homestead,\nbut stands isolate, defiant in its individualism, with a savage,\nslovenly air, and distance, that lacks softening and blending with\nthe surrounding landscape. Besides, it were tantalizing to note the\nnatural advantages of one's grounds, and at the same time be unskilful\nto complete what nature has sketched for the hand of art to adorn and\nidealize. With a little skill, good taste, and small outlay of time\nand pains, one may render any spot a pretty paradise of beauty and\ncomfort,--if these are not one in due combination, and not for himself\nonly, but for those who shall inherit when he shall have left it. The\nrightful ownership in the landscape is born of one's genius, partakes\nof his essence thus wrought with the substance of the soil, the\nstructures which he erects thereon. Whoever enriches and adorns the\nsmallest spot, lives not in vain. For him the poet sings, the moralist\npoints his choicest periods.\n\nI know of nothing better suited to inspire a taste for rural affairs\nthan a Gardener's Almanac, containing matters good to be known by\ncountry people. All the more attractive the volume if tastefully\nillustrated, and contain reprints of select pastoral verses,\nbiographies, with portraits of those who have written on country\naffairs, and lists of their works. The old herbals, too, with all their\nabsurdities, are still tempting books, and contain much information\nimportant for the countryman to possess.[3]\n\n[Footnote 3: To the list of ancient authors, as Cato, Columella, Varro,\nPalladius, Virgil, Theocritus, Tibullus, selections might be added from\nCowley, Marlowe, Browne, Spenser, Tusser, Dyer, Phillips, Shenstone,\nCowper, Thomson, and others less known. Evelyn's works are of great\nvalue, his Kalendarium Hortense particularly. And for showing the state\nof agriculture and of the language in his time, Tusser's Five Hundred\nPoints of Husbandry is full of information, while his quaint humor\nadds to his rugged rhymes a primitive charm. Then of the old herbals,\nGerard's is best known. He was the father of English herbalists, and\nhad a garden attached to his house in Holbern. Coles published his\nAdam in Eden, the Paradise of Plants, in 1659; Austin his Treatise on\nFruit Trees ten years earlier. Dr. Holland's translation of the School\nof Salerne, or the Regiment of Health, appeared in 1649. Thos. Tryon\nwrote on the virtues of plants, and on health, about the same time, and\nhis works are very suggestive and valuable. Miller, gardener to the\nChelsea Gardens, gave the first edition of his Gardener's Dictionary\nto the press in 1731. Sir William Temple also wrote sensibly on\nherbs. Cowley's Six Books of Plants was published in English in 1708.\nPhillips' History of Cultivated Plants, etc., published in 1822, is a\nbook of great merit. So is Culpepper's Herbal.]\n\nCowley and Evelyn are of rural authors the most attractive. Cowley's\nEssays are delightful reading. Nor shall I forgive his biographer\nfor destroying the letters of a man of whom King Charles said at his\ninterment in Westminster Abbey, \"Mr. Cowley has not left a better in\nEngland.\" The friend and correspondent of the most distinguished poets,\nstatesmen, and gentlemen of his time, himself the first poet of his\nday, his letters must have been most interesting and important, and but\nfor the unsettled temper of affairs, would doubtless have been added to\nour polite literature.\n\nHad King Charles remembered Cowley's friend Evelyn, the compliment both\nto the living and dead would have been just. Evelyn was the best of\ncitizens and most loyal of subjects. A complete list of his writings\nshows to what excellent uses he gave himself. The planter of forests in\nhis time, he might be profitably consulted as regards the replanting of\nNew England now.\n\nRespecting his planting, and the origin of his Sylva, he writes to his\nfriend, Lady Sunderland, August, 1690:--\n\n\"As to the Kalendar your ladyship mentions, whatever assistance it may\nbe to some novice gardener, sure I am his lordship will find nothing in\nit worth his notice, but an old inclination to an innocent diversion;\nand the acceptance it found with my dear, and while he lived, worthy\nfriend, Mr. Cowley; upon whose reputation only it has survived seven\nimpressions, and is now entering on the eighth, with some considerable\nimprovement more agreeable to the present curiosity. 'Tis now, Madam,\nalmost forty years since I first writ it, when horticulture was not\nmuch advanced in England, and near thirty years since it was published,\nwhich consideration will, I hope, excuse its many defects. If in the\nmeantime it deserve the name of no unuseful trifle, 'tis all it is\ncapable of.\n\n\"When, many years ago, I came from rambling abroad, and a great deal\nmore since I came home than gave me much satisfaction, and, as events\nhave proved, scarce worth one's pursuit, I cast about how I should\nemploy the time which hangs on most young men's hands, to the best\nadvantage; and, when books and grave studies grew tedious, and other\nimpertinence would be pressing, by what innocent diversions I might\nsometimes relieve myself without compliance to recreations I took no\nfelicity in, because they did not contribute to any improvement of\nmind. This set me upon planting of trees, and brought forth my Sylva,\nwhich book, infinitely beyond my expectations, is now also calling\nfor a fourth impression, and has been the occasion of propagating\nmany millions of useful timber trees throughout this nation, as I\nmay justify without immodesty, from many letters of acknowledgement\nreceived from gentlemen of the first quality, and others altogether\nstrangers to me. His late Majesty, Charles II, was sometimes graciously\npleased to take notice of it to me; and that I had by that book alone\nincited a world of planters to repair their broken estates and woods\nwhich the greedy rebels had wasted and made such havoc of. Upon\nencouragement, I was once speaking to a mighty man then in despotic\npower to mention the great inclination I had to serve his majesty in a\nlittle office then newly vacant (the salary I think hardly \u00a3300), whose\nprovince was to inspect the timber trees in his majesty's forests,\netc., and take care of their culture and improvement; but this was\nconferred upon another, who, I believe, had seldom been out of the\nsmoke of London, where, though there was a great deal of timber, there\nwere not many trees. I confess I had an inclination to the employment\nupon a public account as well as its being suitable to my rural genius,\nborn as I was, at Watton, among woods.\n\n\"Soon after this, happened the direful conflagration of this city,\nwhen, taking notice of our want of books of architecture in the English\ntongue, I published those most useful directions of ten of the best\nauthors on that subject, whose works were very rarely to be had, all\nwritten in French, Latin, or Italian, and so not intelligible to\nour mechanics. What the fruit of that labor and cost has been, (for\nthe sculptures, which are elegant, were very chargeable,) the great\nimprovement of our workmen and several impressions of the copy since\nwill best testify.\n\n\"In this method I thought proper to begin planting trees, because they\nwould require time for growth, and be advancing to delight and shade at\nleast, and were, therefore, by no means to be neglected and deferred,\nwhile buildings might be raised and finished in a summer or two, if the\nowner pleased.\n\n\"Thus, Madam, I endeavored to do my countrymen some little service, in\nas natural an order as I could for the improving and adorning of their\nestates and dwellings, and, if possible, make them in love with those\nuseful and innocent pleasures, in exchange for a wasteful and ignoble\nsloth which I had observed so universally corrupted an ingenious\neducation.\n\n\"To these I likewise added my little history of Chalcography, a\ntreatise of the perfection of painting and of libraries, medals, with\nsome other intermesses which might divert within doors as well as\naltogether without.\"\n\n\n\n\nPASTORALS.\n\n\n  SATURDAY, 8.\n\n    False were the muse, did she not bring\n    Our village poet's offering--\n    Haunts, fields, and groves, weaving his rhymes,\n    Leaves verse and fame to coming times.\n\nIs it for the reason that rural life here in New England furnishes\nnothing for pastoral verse, that our poets have as yet produced so\nlittle? Yet we cannot have had almost three centuries' residence on\nthis side of the Atlantic, with old England's dialect, traditions, and\ncustoms still current in our rural districts for perspective, not to\nhave so adorned life and landscape with poetic associations as to have\nneither honey nor dew for hiving in sweet and tender verse, though it\nshould fall short of the antique or British models. Our fields and\nrivers, brooks and groves, the rural occupations of country-folk,\nhave not been undeserving of being celebrated in appropriate verse.\nOur forefathers delighted in Revolutionary lore. We celebrate natural\nscenery, legends of foreign climes, historic events, but rarely indulge\nin touches of simple country life. And the idyls of New England await\ntheir poet, unless the following verses announce his arrival:--\n\n\n    NEW ENGLAND.\n\n    \"My country, 'tis for thee I strike the lyre;\n    My country, wide as is the free wind's flight,\n    I prize New England as she lights her fire\n    In every Prairie's midst; and where the bright\n    Enchanting stars shine pure through Southern night,\n    She still is there the guardian on the tower,\n    To open for the world a purer hour.\n\n    \"Could they but know the wild enchanting thrill\n    That in our homely houses fills the heart,\n    To feel how faithfully New England's will\n    Beats in each artery, and each small part\n    Of this great Continent, their blood would start\n    In Georgia, or where Spain once sat in state,\n    Or Texas, with her lone star, desolate.\n\n         \u00b7     \u00b7     \u00b7     \u00b7     \u00b7\n\n    \"'Tis a New-England thought, to make this land\n    The very home of Freedom, and the nurse\n    \"Of each sublime emotion; she does stand\n    Between the sunny South, and the dread curse\n    Of God, who else should make her hearse\n    Of condemnation to this Union's life,--\n    She stands to heal this plague, and banish strife.\n\n    \"I do not sing of this, but hymn the day\n    That gilds our cheerful villages and plains,\n    Our hamlets strewn at distance on the way,\n    Our forests and the ancient streams' domains;\n    We are a band of brothers, and our pains\n    Are freely shared; no beggar in our roads,\n    Content and peace within our fair abodes.\n\n    \"In my small cottage on the lonely hill,\n    Where like a hermit I must bide my time,\n    Surrounded by a landscape lying still\n    All seasons through as in the winter's prime,\n    Rude and as homely as these verses chime,\n    I have a satisfaction which no king\n    Has often felt, if Fortune's happiest thing.\n\n    \"'Tis not my fortune, which is meanly low,\n    'Tis not my merit that is nothing worth,\n    'Tis not that I have stores of thought below\n    Which everywhere should build up heaven on earth;\n    Nor was I highly favored in my birth;\n    Few friends have I, and they are much to me,\n    Yet fly above my poor society.\n\n    \"But all about me live New-England men,\n    Their humble houses meet my daily gaze,--\n    The children of this land where Life again\n    Flows like a great stream in sunshiny ways,\n    This is a joy to know them, and my days\n    Are filled with love to meditate on them,--\n    These native gentlemen on Nature's hem.\n\n    \"That I could take one feature of their life,\n    Then on my page a mellow light should shine;\n    Their days are holidays, with labor rife,\n    Labor the song of praise that sounds divine,\n    And better, far, than any hymn of mine;\n    The patient Earth sets platters for their food,\n    Corn, milk, and apples, and the best of good.\n\n    \"See here no shining scenes for artist's eye,\n    This woollen frock shall make no painter's fame;\n    These homely tools all burnishing deny;\n    The beasts are slow and heavy, still or tame;\n    The sensual eye may think this labor lame;\n    'Tis in the man where lies the sweetest art,\n    His true endeavor in his earnest part.\n\n         \u00b7     \u00b7     \u00b7     \u00b7     \u00b7\n\n    \"He meets the year confiding; no great throws,\n    That suddenly bring riches, does he use,\n    But like Thor's hammer vast, his patient blows\n    Vanquish his difficult tasks, he does refuse\n    To tread the path, nor know the way he views;\n    No sad complaining words he uttereth,\n    But draws in peace a free and easy breath.\n\n         \u00b7     \u00b7     \u00b7     \u00b7     \u00b7\n\n    \"This man takes pleasure o'er the crackling fire,\n    His glittering axe subdued the monarch oak,\n    He earned the cheerful blaze by something higher\n    Than pensioned blows,--he owned the tree he stroke,\n    And knows the value of the distant smoke\n    When he returns at night, his labor done,\n    Matched in his action with the long day's sun.\n\n         \u00b7     \u00b7     \u00b7     \u00b7     \u00b7\n\n    \"I love these homely mansions, and to me\n    A farmer's house seems better than a king's;\n    The palace boasts its art, but liberty\n    And honest pride and toil are splendid things;\n    They carved this clumsy lintel, and it brings\n    The man upon its front; Greece hath her art,--\n    But this rude homestead shows the farmer's heart.\n\n    \"I love to meet him on the frozen road,\n    How manly is his eye, as clear as air;--\n    He cheers his beasts without the brutal goad,\n    His face is ruddy, and his features fair;\n    His brave good-day sounds like an honest prayer;\n    This man is in his place and feels his trust,--\n    'Tis not dull plodding through the heavy crust.\n\n    \"And when I have him at his homely hearth,\n    Within his homestead, where no ornament\n    Glows on the mantel but his own true worth,\n    I feel as if within an Arab's tent\n    His hospitality is more than meant;\n    I there am welcome, as the sunlight is,\n    I must feel warm to be a friend of his.\n\n         \u00b7     \u00b7     \u00b7     \u00b7     \u00b7\n\n    \"How many brave adventures with the cold,\n    Built up the cumberous cellar of plain stone;\n    How many summer heats the bricks did mould,\n    That make the ample fireplace, and the tone\n    Of twice a thousand winds sing through the zone\n    Of rustic paling round the modest yard,--\n    These are the verses of this simple bard.\n\n    \"Who sings the praise of Woman in our clime?\n    I do not boast her beauty or her grace;\n    Some humble duties render her sublime,\n    She the sweet nurse of this New-England race,\n    The flower upon the country's sterile face,\n    The mother of New England's sons, the pride\n    Of every house where these good sons abide.\n\n    \"There is a Roman splendor in her smile,\n    A tenderness that owes its depth to toil;\n    Well may she leave the soft voluptuous wile\n    That forms the woman of a softer soil;\n    She does pour forth herself a fragrant oil\n    Upon the dark austerities of Fate,\n    And make a garden else all desolate.\n\n    \"From early morn to fading eve she stands,\n    Labor's best offering on the shrine of worth,\n    And Labor's jewels glitter on her hands,\n    To make a plenty out of partial dearth,\n    To animate the heaviness of earth,\n    To stand and serve serenely through the pain,\n    To nurse a vigorous race and ne'er complain.\n\n    \"New-England women are New-England's pride,\n    'Tis fitting they should be so, they are free,--\n    Intelligence doth all their acts decide,\n    Such deeds more charming than old ancestry.\n    I could not dwell beside them, and not be\n    Enamored of them greatly; they are meant\n    To charm the Poet, by their pure intent.\n\n    \"A natural honest bearing of their lot,\n    Cheerful at work, and happy when 'tis done;\n    They shine like stars within the humblest cot,\n    And speak for freedom centred all in one.\n    From every river's side I hear the son\n    Of some New-England woman answer me,\n    'Joy to our Mothers, who did make us free.'\n\n    \"And when those wanderers turn to home again,\n    See the familiar village, and the street\n    Where they once frolicked, they are less than men\n    If in their eyes the tear-drops do not meet,\n    To feel how soon their mothers they shall greet:\n    Sons of New England have no dearer day,\n    Than once again within those arms to lay.\n\n    \"These are her men and women; this the sight\n    That greets me daily when I pass their homes;\n    It is enough to love, it throws some light\n    Over the gloomiest hours; the fancy roams\n    No more to Italy or Greece; the loams\n    Whereon we tread are sacred by the lives\n    Of those who till them, and our comfort thrives.\n\n    \"Here might one pass his days, content to be\n    The witness of those spectacles alway;\n    Bring if you may your treasure from the sea,\n    My pride is in my Townsmen, where the day\n    Rises so fairly on a race who lay\n    Their hopes on Heaven after their toil is o'er,\n    Upon this rude and bold New-England shore.\n\n    \"Vainly ye pine woods rising on the height\n    Should lift your verdant boughs and cones aloft;\n    Vainly ye winds should surge around in might,\n    Or murmur o'er the meadow stanzas soft;\n    To me should nothing yield or lake or crost,\n    Had not the figures of the pleasant scene\n    Like trees and fields an innocent demean.\n\n    \"I feel when I am here some pride elate,\n    Proud of your presence who do duty here,\n    For I am some partaker of your fate,\n    Your manly anthem vibrates in my ear;\n    Your hearts are heaving unconsumed by fear;\n    Your modest deeds are constantly supplied;\n    Your simpler truths by which you must abide.\n\n    \"Therefore I love a cold and flinty realm,\n    I love the sky that hangs New England o'er,\n    And if I were embarked, and at the helm\n    I ran my vessel on New England's shore,\n    And dashed upon her crags, would live no more,\n    Rather than go seek those lands of graves\n    Where men who tread the fields are cowering slaves.\"\n\n    W. ELLERY CHANNING.\n\n\n\n\nCONVERSATION.\n\n\n  MONDAY, 17.\n\nIf one would learn the views of some of our most thoughtful New-England\nmen and women, he will find their fullest and freshest expression in\nthe discussions of the Radical Club. Almost every extreme of Liberalism\nis there represented, and its manners and methods are as various as\nthe several members who take part in the readings and conversations.\nIt is assumed that all subjects proposed for discussion are open to\nthe freest consideration, and that each is entitled to have the\nwidest scope and hospitality allowed it. Truth is spherical, and seen\ndifferently according to the culture, temperament, and disposition of\nthose who survey it from their individual standpoint. Of two or more\nsides, none can be absolutely right, and conversation fails if it\nfind not the central truth from which all radiate. Debate is angular,\nconversation circular and radiant of the underlying unity. Who speaks\ndeeply excludes all possibility of controversy. His affirmation is\nself-sufficient: his assumption final, absolute.\n\n    Yes, yes, I see it must be so,\n    The Yes alone resolves the No.\n\nThus holding himself above the arena of dispute, he gracefully settles\na question by speaking so home to the core of the matter as to\nundermine the premise upon which an issue had been taken. For whoso\nspeaks to the Personality drives beneath the grounds of difference, and\ndeals face to face with principles and ideas.[4]\n\n[Footnote 4: \"Dialectics treat of pure thought and of the method of\narriving at it. A current misapprehension on the subject of dialectics\nhere presents itself. Most people understand it to mean argument, and\nthey believe that truths may be arrived at and held by such argument\nplaced in due logical form. They demand the proof of an assertion,\nand imply something of weakness in the reasoning power in those who\nfail to give this. It is well to understand what proof means. Kant\nhas shown us in his Critique of Pure Reason, that the course of all\nsuch ratiocination is a movement in a circle. One assumes in his\npremises what he wishes to prove, and then unfolds it as the result.\nThe assumptions are in all cases mere sides of antinomies or opposite\ntheses, each of which has validity and may be demonstrated against the\nother. Thus the debater moves round and round and presupposes one-sided\npremises which must be annulled before he can be in a state to perceive\nthe truth. Argument of this kind the accomplished dialectician never\nengages in; it is simply egotism when reduced to its lowest terms. The\nquestion assumed premises that were utterly inadmissible.\n\n\"The process of true proof does not proceed in the manner of\nargumentation; it does not assume its whole result in its premises,\nwhich are propositions of reflection, and then draw them out\nsyllogistically. Speculative truth is never contained analytically in\nany one or in all of such propositions of reflection. It is rather the\nnegative of them, and hence is transcendent in its entire procedure.\nIt rises step by step, synthetically, through the negation of the\nprinciple assumed at the beginning, until, finally, the presupposition\nof all is reached. It is essentially a going from the part to the\nwhole. Whatever is seized by the dialectic is turned on its varied\nsides, and careful note is made of its defects, _i. e._ what it lacks\nwithin itself to make it possible. That which it implies is added to\nit, as belonging to its totality, and thus onward progress is made\nuntil the entire comprehension of its various phases is attained.\nThe ordinary analytic proof is seen to be shallow after more or less\nexperience in it. The man of insight sees that it is a 'child's\nplay,--a mere placing of the inevitable dogmatism a step or two\nback--that is all. _Real speculation proceeds synthetically beyond what\nit finds inadequate, until it reaches the adequate._'\"\n\n  WM. T. HARRIS.]\n\nGood discourse sinks differences and seeks agreements. It avoids\nargument, by finding a common basis of agreement; and thus escapes\ncontroversy, by rendering it superfluous. Pertinent to the platform,\ndebate is out of place in the parlor. Persuasion is the better weapon\nin this glittering game.\n\nNothing rarer than great conversation, nothing more difficult to prompt\nand guide. Like magnetism, it obeys its own hidden laws, sympathies,\nantipathies, is sensitive to the least breath of criticism. It requires\nnatural tact, a familiarity with these fine laws, long experience, a\ntemperament predisposed to fellowship, to hold high the discourse by\nkeeping the substance of things distinctly in view throughout the\nnatural windings of the dialogue. Many can argue, not many converse.\nReal humility is rare everywhere and at all times. If women have the\nlarger share, and venture less in general conversation, it may be from\nthe less confidence, not in themselves, but in those who have hitherto\nassumed the lead, even in matters more specially concerning woman. Few\nmen are diffident enough to speak beautifully and well on the finest\nthemes.\n\nConversation presupposes a common sympathy in the subject, a great\nequality in the speakers; absence of egotism, a tender criticism of\nwhat is spoken. 'Tis this great equality and ingenuousness that renders\nthis game of questions so charming and entertaining, and the more that\nit invites the indefinable complement of sex. Only where the sexes are\nbrought into sympathy, is conversation possible. Where women are, men\nspeak best; for the most part, below themselves, where women are not.\nAnd the like holds presumably of companies composed solely of women.\n\nGood discourse wins from the bashful and discreet what they have to\nspeak, but would not, without this provocation. The forbidding faces\nare Fates to overbear and blemish true fellowship. We give what we are,\nnot necessarily what we know; nothing more, nothing less, and only to\nour kind, those playing best their parts who have the nimblest wits,\ntaking out the egotism, the nonsense; putting wisdom, information, in\ntheir place. Humor to dissolve, and wit to fledge your theme, if you\nwill rise out of commonplace; any amount of erudition, eloquence of\nphrase, scope of comprehension; figure and symbol sparingly but fitly.\nWho speaks to the eye, speaks to the whole mind.\n\nMost people are too exclusively individual for conversing. It costs\ntoo great expenditure of magnetism to dissolve them; who cannot leave\nhimself out of his discourse, but embarrasses all who take part in it.\nEgotists cannot converse, they talk to themselves only.\n\nConversation with plain people proves more agreeable and profitable,\nusually, than with companies more pretentious and critical. It is wont\nto run the deeper and stronger without impertinent interruptions,\ninevitable where cultivated egotism and self-assurance are present\nwith such. There remains this resource, of ignoring civilly the\ninterruption, and proceeding as if the intrusion had not been\ninterposed.\n\n                        \"Oft when the wise\n    Appears not wise, he works the greater good.\"\n\n\"Never allow yourself,\" said Goethe, \"to be betrayed into a dispute.\nWise men fall into ignorance if they dispute with ignorant men.\"\nPersuasion is the finest artillery. It is the unseen guns that do\nexecution without smoke or tumult. If one cannot win by force of wit,\nwithout cannonade of abuse, flourish of trumpet, he is out of place in\nparlors, ventures where he can neither forward nor grace fellowship.\nThe great themes are feminine, and to be dealt with delicately. Debate\nis masculine; conversation is feminine.\n\nHere is a piece of excellent counsel from Plotinus:--\n\n\"And this may everywhere be considered, that he who pursues our form of\nphilosophy, will, besides all other graces, genuinely exhibit simple\nand venerable manners, in conjunction with the possession of wisdom,\nand will endeavor not to become insolent or proud, but will possess\nconfidence, accompanied with reason, with sincerity and candor, and\ngreat circumspection.\"\n\n\n\n\nMARGARET FULLER.\n\n\n  THURSDAY, 20.\n\nHorace Greeley has just issued from the \"Tribune\" office a uniform\nedition of Margaret Fuller's works, together with her Memoirs first\npublished twenty years ago. And now, while woman is the theme of public\ndiscussion, her character and writings may be studied to advantage.\nThe sex has had no abler advocate. Her book entitled \"Woman in the\nNineteenth Century\" anticipated most of the questions now in the air,\nand the leaders in the movement for woman's welfare might take its\ncounsels as the text for their action. Her methods, too, suggest the\nbetter modes of influence. That she wrote books is the least of her\nmerits. She was greatest when she dropped her pen. She spoke best\nwhat others essayed to say, and what women speak best. Hers was a\nglancing logic that leaped straight to the sure conclusion; a sibylline\nintelligence that divined oracularly; knew by anticipation; in the\npresence always, the open vision. Alas, that so much should have been\nlost to us, and this at the moment when it seemed we most needed and\ncould profit by it! Was it some omen of that catastrophe which gave her\nvoice at times the tones of a sadness almost preternatural? What figure\nwere she now here in times and triumphs like ours! She seemed to have\ndivined the significance of woman, dared where her sex had hesitated\nhitherto, was gifted to untie social knots which the genius of a Plato\neven failed to disentangle. \"Either sex alone,\" he said, \"was but half\nitself.\" Yet he did not complement the two in honorable marriage in his\nsocial polity. \"If a house be rooted in wrong,\" says Euripides, \"it\nwill blossom in vice.\" As the oak is cradled in the acorn's cup, so the\nstate in the family. Domestic licentiousness saps every institution,\nthe morals of the community at large,--a statement trite enough, but\ntill it is no longer needful to be made is the commonwealth established\non immovable foundations.\n\n    \"Revere no God whom men adore by night.\"\n\nLet the sexes be held to like purity of morals, and equal justice meted\nto them for any infraction of the laws of social order. Women are the\nnatural leaders of society in whatever concerns private morals, lead\nwhere it were safe for men to follow. About the like number as of men,\ndoubtless, possess gifts to serve the community at large; while most\nwomen, as most men, will remain private citizens, fulfilling private\nduties. Her vote as such will tell for personal purity, for honor,\ntemperance, justice, mercy, peace,--the domestic virtues upon which\ncommunities are founded, and in which they must be firmly rooted to\nprosper and endure. The unfallen souls are feminine.\n\nCrashaw's Ideal Woman should win the love and admiration of her sex as\nwell as ours.\n\n    \"Whoe'er she be\n    That not impossible she\n    That shall command my heart and me;\n\n    \"Where'er she lie\n    Lock'd up from mortal eye\n    In shady leaves of destiny;\n\n    \"Till that ripe birth\n    Of studied fate stand forth,\n    And teach her fair steps to our earth;\n\n    \"Till that divine\n    Idea take a shrine\n    Of crystal flesh, through which to shine,\n\n    \"Meet you her my wishes,\n    Bespeak her to my blisses,\n    And be ye called my absent kisses.\n\n    \"I wish her beauty\n    That owes not all its duty\n    To gaudy tire, or glistening shoe-ty.\n\n    \"Something more than\n    Taffata or tissue can,\n    Or rampant feather, or rich fan.\n\n    \"More than the spoil\n    Of shop, or silkworm's toil,\n    Or a bought blush, or a set smile.\n\n    \"A face that's best\n    By its own beauty drest,\n    And can alone command the rest.\n\n    \"A face made up\n    Out of no other shop\n    Than what nature's white hand sets ope.\n\n    \"A cheek where youth\n    And blood, with pen of truth,\n    Write what the reader sweetly rueth.\n\n    \"A cheek where grows\n    More than a morning rose,\n    Which to no box his being owes.\n\n    \"Lips, where all day\n    A lover's kiss may play,\n    Yet carry nothing thence away.\n\n    \"Looks, that oppress\n    Their richest tires, but dress\n    And clothe their simplest nakedness.\n\n    \"Eyes, that displaces\n    The neighbor diamond and out-faces\n    That sunshine by their own sweet graces.\n\n    \"Tresses, that wear\n    Jewels, but to declare\n    How much themselves more precious are.\n\n    \"Whose native ray\n    Can tame the wanton day\n    Of gems that in their bright shades play.\n\n    \"Each ruby there,\n    Or pearl that dare appear,\n    Be its own blush, be its own tear.\n\n    \"A well-tamed heart,\n    For whose more noble smart\n    Love may be long choosing a dart.\n\n    \"Eyes, that bestow\n    Full quivers on Love's bow,\n    Yet pay less arrows than they owe.\n\n    \"Smiles, that can warm\n    The blood, yet teach a charm\n    That chastity shall take no harm.\n\n    \"Blushes, that been\n    The burnish of no sin,\n    Nor flames of aught too hot within.\n\n    \"Days, that need borrow\n    No part of their good morrow\n    From a fore-spent night of sorrow.\n\n    \"Days, that in spite\n    Of darkness, by the light\n    Of a clear mind are day all night.\n\n    \"Life, that dares send\n    A challenge to his end,\n    And when it comes say, 'Welcome, friend.'\n\n    \"Sydneian showers\n    Of sweet discourse, whose powers\n    Can crown old Winter's head with flowers.\n\n    \"Soft silken hours,\n    Open suns, shady bowers,\n    'Bove all, nothing within that lowers.\n\n    \"Whate'er delight\n    Can make day's forehead bright,\n    Or give down to the wings of night.\n\n    \"In her whole frame,\n    Have nature all the name,\n    Art and ornament the shame.\n\n    \"Her flattery,\n    Picture and poesy,\n    Her counsel her own virtue be.\n\n    \"I wish her store\n    Of worth may leave her poor\n    Of wishes; and I wish--no more.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHILDHOOD.\n\n\n  SUNDAY, 23.\n\nMy little grandsons visit me at this becoming season of birds and apple\nblossoms. They accompany me to the brook, and are pleased with their\nwillow whistles and sail-boats,--toys delightful to childhood from the\nfirst. Their manners, that first of accomplishments, delight us in\nreturn, showing that the sense of beauty has dawned and their culture\nfairly begun. 'Tis a culture to watch them through their days' doings.\nEndless their fancies and engagements. What arts, accomplishments,\ngraces, are woven in their playful panorama; the scene shifting with\nthe mood, and all in keeping with the laws of thought and of things.\nVerily, there are invisible players playing their parts through these\npretty puppets all day long.\n\nTo conceive a child's acquirements as originating in nature, dating\nfrom his birth into his body, seems an atheism that only a shallow\nmetaphysical theology could entertain in a time of such marvellous\nnatural knowledge as ours. \"I shall never persuade myself,\" said\nSynesius, \"to believe my soul to be of like age with my body.\" And yet\nwe are wont to date our birth, as that of the babes we christen, from\nthe body's advent so duteously inscribed in our family registers, as if\ntime and space could chronicle the periods of the immortal mind, and\nmark its longevity by our chronometers.[5] Only a God could inspire a\nchild with the intimations seen in its first pulse-plays; the sprightly\nattainments of a single day's doings afford the liveliest proofs of\nan omniscient Deity revealing his attributes in the motions of the\nlittle one! Nor is maternity less a special inspiration throbbing\nceaselessly with childhood as a protecting Providence, lifelong. Comes\nnot the mother to make the Creator's word sure that all he has made\nis verily good? For without mother and wife, what more than a rough\noutline of divinity were drawn? \"That man,\" says Euripides, \"hath made\nhis fortune who hath married a good wife.\" For what would some of us\nhave accomplished, what should we have not done, misdone, without her\ncounsels to temper our adventurous idealism? Heaven added a new power\nto creation when it sent woman into it to complete what He had designed.\n\n[Footnote 5: \"Infants,\" says Olympiodorus, \"are not seen to laugh\nfor some time after birth, but pass the greater part of their time\nin sleep; however, in their sleep they appear both to smile and cry.\nBut can this any otherwise happen than through the soul agitating the\ncirculations of their animal nature in conformity with the passions it\nhas experienced before birth into the body? Besides, our looking into\nourselves when we seek to discover any truth, shows that we inwardly\ncontain truth, though concealed in the darkness of oblivion.\" Does atom\nanimate and revive thought, or thought animate and illuminate atom? And\nwhich the elder?]\n\n    \"He is a parricide to his mother's name,\n    And with an impious hand, murthers her fame,\n    Who wrongs the praise of woman; that dares write\n    Libels on saints, or with foul ink requite\n    The milk they lent us.\"\n\nWhen one becomes indifferent to women, to children and young people, he\nmay know that he is superannuated, and has withdrawn from whatsoever is\nsweetest and purest in human existence. One of the happiest rewards of\nage is the enjoyment of children. And when these inherit one's better\ngifts and graces, sinking the worse, or omitting them altogether, what\ncan be added to fill the cup of parental gratitude and delight? I fail\nto comprehend how the old and young folks are to enjoy a future heaven\ntogether, unless they have learned to partake in the enjoyments of\nthis. Shall we picture future separate heavens for them?\n\n    Sing, sing, the immortals,\n      The ancients of days,\n    Ever crowding the portals\n      Of earth's populous ways;\n\n    The babes ever stealing\n    Into Eden's glad feeling;\n    The fore-world revealing\n    God's face, ne'er concealing.\n\n    Sing, sing, the child's fancies,\n    Its graces and glances,\n    Plans, pastimes, surprises,\n    Slips, sorrows, surmises.\n\n    Youth's trials and treasures,\n    Its hopes without measures,\n    Its labors and leisures;\n    His world all before him,\n    High heaven all o'er him;\n    Life's lengthening story,\n    Opening glory on glory;\n    By age ne'er o'ertaken,\n    By youth near forsaken.\n\n    Sings none this fair story,\n    But dwellers in its glory;\n    Who would the youth see,\n    A youth he must be;\n    Heaven's kingdom alone\n    To children doth come.\n\nThe family is the sensitive plant of civility, the measure of culture.\nTake the census of the homes, and you have the sum total of character\nand civilization in any community. Sown in the family, the seeds of\nholiness are here to be cherished and ripened for immortality. Here is\nthe seminary of the virtues, the graces, accomplishments, that adorn\nand idealize existence. From this college we graduate for better or for\nworse. This faculty of the affections, this drinking freshly at the\nsprings of genius and sensibility, this intimacy with the loveliest and\nbest in life, is the real schooling, the truest discipline, without\nwhich neither mind nor heart flourish; all other advantages being\nof secondary account; wealth, wit, beauty, social position, books,\ntravel, fellowships, are but sounding names, opportunities of inferior\nimportance, compared with this endowment of personal influences.\n\nHere, in this atmosphere of love and sympathy, character thrives and\nripens. And were the skill for touching its tender sensibilities,\ncalling forth its budding gifts, equal to the charms the child has\nfor us, what noble characters would graduate from our families,--the\ncommunity receiving its members accomplished in the Personal graces,\nthe state its patriots, the church its saints, all glorifying the\nrace. One day the highest culture of the choicest gifts will be deemed\nessential to the heads of families, and the arts of nurture and of\nculture honored as the art of arts.\n\n\"Boys are dear to divinity,\" dear to all mankind. What more charming\nthan to watch the dawning intelligence, clearing itself from the mists\nwhich obscure its vision of the world into which it has but lately\nentered? The more attractive, since a fine sentiment then mingles\nmythically with the freshness of thought, confuses the sexes, as if\nthe boy were being transformed into the girl, first entering her wider\nworld of affection; and the girl in turn were being metamorphosed into\nthe boy, first becoming conscious of the newer world of intellect; each\nentering, by instinct, into the mind of the other. I know not which\nis the more charming each in their ways, the coy manners of girls, or\nthe shy behavior of beautiful boys,--mysteries both to each other, nor\nless to their elders. 'Tis the youthful sentiment, whether feminine\nor masculine, that renders friendship delightful, the world lovely;\nthis gone, all is gone that life can enjoy. \"There are periods in one's\nlife,\" says Pythagoras, \"which it is not in the power of any casual\nperson to connect finely, these being expelled by one another, unless\nsome sympathetic friend conduct him from birth in a beautiful and\nupright manner.\"\n\n\nPYTHAGORAS.\n\nOf the great educators of antiquity, I esteem Pythagoras the most\neminent and successful. Everything of his doctrine and discipline comes\ncommended by its elegance and humanity, and justifies the name he bore\nof the golden-souled Samian, and founder of the Greek culture. He seems\nto have stood in providential nearness to the human sensibility, as\nif his were a maternal relation as well, and he owned the minds whom\nhe nurtured and educated. The first of philosophers, taking the name\nfor its modesty of pretension, he justified his claim to it in the\nattainments and services of his followers; his school having given us\nSocrates, Plato, Pericles, Plutarch, Plotinus, and others of almost\nequal fame, founders of states and cultures.\n\nHe was most fortunate in his biographer. For, next to the Gospels,\nI know of nothing finer of the kind than the mythological portrait\ndrawn of him by Jamblichus, his admiring disciple, and a philosopher\nworthy of his master. How mellow the coloring, the drapery disposed\nso gracefully about the person he paints! I look upon this piece of\nnature with ever fresh delight, so reverend, humane, so friendly in\naspect and Olympian. Nor is the interest less, but enhanced rather\nby the interfusion of fable into the personal history, the charm of\na subtle idealism being thus given it, relating him thereby to the\nsacred names of all times. There is in him an Oriental splendor, as\nof sunrise, reflected on statues, blooming in orchards, an ambrosial\nbeauty and sweetness, as of autumnal fruits and of women.\n\n                        \"In all he did,\n    Some picture of the golden times was hid.\"\n\nPersonally, he is said to have been the most beautiful and godlike of\nall those who had been celebrated in history before his time. As a\nyouth, his aspect was venerable and his habits strictly temperate, so\nthat he was reverenced and honored by elderly men. He attracted the\nattention of all who saw him, and appeared admirable in all eyes. He\nwas adorned by piety and discipline, by a mode of life transcendently\ngood, by firmness of soul, and by a body in due subjection to the\nmandates of reason. In all his words and actions, he discovered an\ninimitable quiet and serenity, not being subdued at any time by\nanger, emulation, contention, or any precipitation of conduct. He\nwas reverenced by the multitude as one under the influence of divine\ninspiration. He abstained from all intoxicating drinks, and from animal\nfood, confining himself to a chaste nutriment. Hence, his sleep was\nshort and undisturbed, his soul vigilant and pure, his body in a state\nof perfect and invariable health. He was free from the superstitions\nof his time, and pervaded with a deep sense of duty towards God, and\nveneration for his divine attributes and immanency in things. He fixed\nhis mind so intently on the attainment of wisdom, that systems and\nmysteries inaccessible to others were opened to him by his magic genius\nand sincerity of purpose. The great principle with which he started,\nthat of being a seeker rather than possessor of truth, seemed ever to\nurge him forward with a diligence and an activity unprecedented in the\nhistory of the past, and perhaps unequalled since. He visited every\nman who could claim any degree of fame for wisdom or learning, whilst\nthe relics of antiquity and the simplest operations of nature seemed\nto yield to his researches; and we moderns are using his eyes in many\ndepartments of activity into which pure thought enters, being indebted\nto him for important discoveries alike in science and metaphysics.\n\n\"His institution at Crotona was the most comprehensive and complete of\nany of which we read. His aim being at once a philosophical school,\na religious brotherhood, and a political association. And all these\ncharacters appear to have been inseparably united in the founder's\nmind. It must be considered as a proof of upright intentions in\nPythagoras which ought to rescue him from all suspicion of selfish\nmotives, that he chose for his associates persons whom he deemed\ncapable of grasping the highest truths which he could communicate, and\nwas not only willing to teach them all he knew, but regarded the utmost\ncultivation of the intellectual faculties as a necessary preparation\nfor the work to which he destined them. He instituted a society, an\norder, as one may now call it, composed of young men, three hundred\nin number, carefully selected from the noblest families, not only of\nCrotona, but of the other Italian cities.\n\n\"Those who confided themselves to the guidance of his doctrine and\ndiscipline, conducted themselves in the following manner:--\n\n\"They performed their morning walks alone in places where there\nhappened to be an appropriate solitude and quiet, and where there were\ntemples and groves, and other things adapted to give delight. For\nthey thought it was not proper to converse with any one till they had\nrendered their own soul sedate and co-harmonized with the reasoning\npower. For they apprehended it to be a thing of a turbulent nature to\nmingle in a crowd as soon as they rose from bed. But after the morning\nwalk, they associated with each other, and employed themselves in\ndiscussing doctrines and disciplines, and in the correction of their\nmanners and lives.\n\n\"They employed their time after dinner, which consisted of bread and\nhoney without wine, in domestic labors and economies, and in the\nhospitalities due to strangers and their guests, according to the laws.\nAll business of this sort was transacted during these hours of the day.\n\n\"When it was evening, they again betook themselves to walking, yet not\nsingly as in the morning walk, but in parties of two or three, calling\nto mind, as they walked, the disciplines which they had learned, and\nexercising themselves in beautiful studies.\n\n\"After bathing again, they went to supper; no more than ten meeting\ntogether for this purpose. This meal they finished before the setting\nof the sun. It was of wine and maize, bread and salad. They were of\nopinion that any animal, not naturally noxious to the human race,\nshould neither be injured nor slain.\n\n\"After supper, libations were performed; and these were succeeded by\nreadings, the youngest reading, and the eldest ordering what should be\nread and after what manner.\n\n\"They wore a white and pure garment, and slept on beds the coverlets of\nwhich were of white linen.\"\n\n\n\n\nCONVERSATION WITH CHILDREN.\n\n\n  MONDAY, 24.\n\nMy book of Conversations, held with Children in Boston near forty years\nago, has found an admiring reader at last. He writes:--\n\n\"I have just found in a second-hand bookstore your two volumes\nof Conversations on the Gospels, and have read them with benefit\nand delight. Nowhere have I seen the Gospels so spiritualized, so\nrationalized, Platonized. The _na\u00efvet\u00e9_ aside, it seems the product\nof a company of idealists. Is it possible that common human nature in\nchildren, thrown upon its own resources, can exhibit such intelligence,\nor instinct, if you please to call it so? Were these children taken as\nthey came, or were they selected, culled?\"\n\nThey came from families occupying various social advantages, and were a\nfair average of children thus born and bred. I give a sample of one of\nthe conversations as reported from their lips at the time. Their ages\nwere from six to twelve years.\n\n\nCONVERSATION ON WORSHIP.\n\nMr. Alcott read (having previously read the beginning) the remainder of\nthe Conversation of Jesus with the woman of Samaria (John iv. 16-30),--\n\n  16. Jesus saith unto her, Go call thy husband, and come hither.\n\n  17. The woman answered and said, I have no husband. Jesus said unto\n  her, Thou hast well said I have no husband:\n\n  18. For thou hast had five husbands, and he whom thou now hast is not\n  thy husband: in that saidst thou truly.\n\n  19. The woman said unto him, Sir, I perceive that thou art a prophet.\n\n  20. Our fathers worshipped in this mountain; and ye say that in\n  Jerusalem is the place where men ought to worship.\n\n  21. Jesus saith unto her, Woman, believe me, the hour cometh when ye\n  shall neither in this mountain, nor yet at Jerusalem, worship the\n  Father.\n\n  22. Ye worship ye know not what: we know what we worship, for\n  salvation is of the Jews.\n\n  23. But the hour cometh, and now is, when the true worshippers shall\n  worship the Father in spirit and in truth: for the father seeketh\n  such to worship him.\n\n  24. God _is_ a Spirit: and they that worship him must worship _him_\n  in spirit and in truth.\n\n  25. The woman saith unto him, I know that Messias cometh, which is\n  called Christ; when he is come, he will tell us all things.\n\n  26. Jesus saith unto her, I that speak unto thee am _he_.\n\n  27. And upon this came his disciples, and marvelled that he talked\n  with the woman: yet no man said, What seekest thou? or, Why talkest\n  thou with her?\n\n  28. The woman then left her water-pot, and went her way into the\n  city, and saith to the men,\n\n  29. Come, see a man which told me all things that ever I did: is not\n  this the Christ?\n\n  30. Then they went out of the city, and came unto him.\n\nBefore he had time to ask the usual question,--\n\nSAMUEL T. (_spoke_). I was most interested in this verse: \"He that\ndrinks of this water shall thirst again, but he that drinks of the\nwater that I shall give him, shall never thirst.\" He means by this,\nthat those who heard what he taught, and did it, should live always,\nshould never die, their spirits should never die.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Can spirits die?\n\nSAMUEL T. For a spirit to die is to leave off being good.\n\nEDWARD J. I was interested in the words, \"For the water I shall give\nhim will be in him a well of water.\" I think it means that when people\nare good and getting better, it is like water springing up always.\nThey have more and more goodness.\n\nSAMUEL R. Water is an emblem of holiness.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Water means spirit, pure and unsoiled.\n\nEDWARD J. It is holy spirit.\n\nELLEN. I was most interested in these words: \"Ye worship ye know not\nwhat.\" The Samaritans worship idols, and there was no meaning to that.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. What do you mean by their worshipping idols?\n\nELLEN. They cared about things more than God.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. What kind of false worship do you think Jesus was thinking\nabout when he said: \"Woman, the hour is coming and now is, when neither\nin this mountain--\"?\n\nELLEN. Oh! she thought the place of worship was more important than the\nworship itself.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Well! how did Jesus answer that thought?\n\nELLEN. He told her what she ought to worship, which was more important\nthan where.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Some of you, perhaps, have made this mistake, and thought\nthat we only worshipped God in churches, and on Sundays. How is\nit,--who has thought so?\n\n(_Several held up hands, smiling._)\n\nWho knew that we could worship God anywhere?\n\n(_Others held up hands._)\n\nWhat other worship is there besides that in the church?\n\nEDWARD J. The worship in our hearts.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. How is that carried on?\n\nEDWARD J. By being good.\n\nNATHAN. We worship God by growing better.\n\nAUGUSTINE. We worship God when we repent of doing wrong.\n\nJOSIAH. I was most interested in this verse: \"God is a spirit, and they\nthat worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth.\" It means\nthat to feel our prayers is more important than to say the words.\n\nLEMUEL. And when we pray and pray sincerely.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. What is praying sincerely?\n\nLEMUEL. Praying the truth.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. What is to be done in praying the truth? When you think of\nprayer, do you think of a position of the body--of words?\n\nLEMUEL (_earnestly_). I think of something else, but I cannot express\nit.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Josiah is holding up his hand; can he express it?\n\nJOSIAH (_burst out_). To pray, Mr. Alcott, is to be good, really; you\nknow it is better to be bad before people and to be good to God alone,\nbecause then we are good for goodness sake, and not to be seen, and\nnot for people's sake. Well, so it is about prayer. There must be\nnothing outward with prayer; but we must have some words, sometimes;\nsometimes we need not. If we don't feel the prayer, it is worse than\nnever to say a word of prayer. It is wrong not to pray, but it is more\nwrong to speak prayer and not pray. We had better do nothing about it,\nMr. Alcott! we must say words in a prayer, and we must feel the words\nwe say, and we must do what belongs to the words.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Oh! there must be doing, must there?\n\nJOSIAH. Oh! yes, Mr. Alcott! doing is the most important part. We must\nask God for help, and at the same time try to do the thing we are to be\nhelped about. If a boy should be good all day, and have no temptation,\nit would not be very much; there would be no improvement; but if he had\ntemptation, he could pray and feel the prayer, and try to overcome it,\nand would overcome it; and then there would be a real prayer and a real\nimprovement. That would be something. Temptation is always necessary to\na real prayer, I think. I don't believe there is ever any real prayer\nbefore there is a temptation; because we may think and feel and say our\nprayer; but there cannot be any doing, without there is something to be\ndone.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Well, Josiah, that will do now. Shall some one else speak?\n\nJOSIAH. Oh, Mr. Alcott, I have not half done!\n\nEDWARD J. Mr. Alcott, what is the use of responding in church?\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Cannot you tell?\n\nEDWARD J. No; I never knew.\n\nJOSIAH. Oh! Mr. Alcott!\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Well, Josiah, do you know?\n\nJOSIAH. Why, Edward! is it not just like a mother's telling her child\nthe words? The child wants to pray; it don't know how to express its\nreal thoughts, as we often say to Mr. Alcott here; and the mother says\nwords, and the child repeats after her the words.\n\nEDWARD J. Yes; but I don't see what good it does.\n\nJOSIAH. What! if the mother says the words, and the child repeats them\nand feels them,--really wants the things that are prayed for,--can't\nyou see that it does some good?\n\nEDWARD J. It teaches the word-prayer--it is not the real prayer.\n\nJOSIAH. Yet it must be the real prayer, and the real prayer must have\nsome words.\n\nBut, Mr. Alcott, I think it would be a great deal better, if, at\nchurch, everybody prayed for themselves. I don't see why one person\nshould pray for all the rest. Why could not the minister pray for\nhimself, and the people pray for themselves? and why should not all\ncommunicate their thoughts? Why should only one speak? Why should not\nall be preachers? Everybody could say something; at least, everybody\ncould say their own prayers, for they know what they want. Every person\nknows the temptations they have, and people are tempted to do different\nthings. Mr. Alcott, I think Sunday ought to come oftener.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Our hearts can make all time Sunday.\n\nJOSIAH. Why, then, nothing could be done! There must be week-days, I\nknow--some week-days; I said, Sunday oftener.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. But you wanted the prayers to be doing prayers. Now some of\nthe rest may tell me, how you could pray doing prayers.\n\nGEORGE K. Place is of no consequence. I think prayer is in our hearts.\nChristian prayed in the cave of Giant Despair. We can pray anywhere,\nbecause we can have faith anywhere.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Faith, then, is necessary?\n\nGEORGE K. Yes; for it is faith that makes the prayer.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Suppose an instance of prayer in yourself.\n\nGEORGE K. I can pray going to bed or getting up.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. You are thinking of time, place, words.\n\nGEORGE K. And feelings and thoughts.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. And action?\n\nGEORGE K. Yes; action comes after.\n\nJOHN B. When we have been doing wrong and are sorry, we pray to God to\ntake away the evil.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. What evil, the punishment?\n\nJOHN B. No; we want the forgiveness.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. What is for-give-ness? Is it anything given?\n\nLEMUEL. Goodness, holiness.\n\nJOHN B. And the evil is taken away.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Is there any action in all this?\n\nJOHN B. Why, yes; there is thought and feeling.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. But it takes the body also to act; what do the hands do?\n\nJOHN B. There is no prayer in the hands.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. You have taken something that belongs to another; you pray\nto be forgiven; you wish not to do so again; you are sorry. Is there\nanything to do?\n\nJOHN B. If you injure anybody, and can repair it, you must, and you\nwill, if you have prayed sincerely; but that is not the prayer.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Would the prayer be complete without it?\n\nJOHN B. No.\n\nANDREW. Prayer is in the spirit.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Does the body help the spirit?\n\nANDREW. It don't help the prayer.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Don't the lips move?\n\nANDREW. But have the lips anything to do with the prayer?\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Yes; they may. The whole nature may act together; the body\npray; and I want you to tell an instance of a prayer in which are\nthoughts, feelings, action; which involves the whole nature, body and\nall. There may be prayer in the palms of our hands.\n\nANDREW. Why, if I had hurt anybody, and was sorry and prayed to be\nforgiven, I suppose I should look round for some medicine and try to\nmake it well.\n\n(_Mr. Alcott here spoke of the connection of the mind with the body, in\norder to make his meaning clearer._)\n\nSAMUEL R. If I had a bad habit, and should ask God for help to break\nit; and then should try so as really to break it, that would be a\nprayer.\n\nCHARLES. Suppose I saw a poor beggar boy hurt or sick, and all\nbleeding; and I had very nice clothes, and was afraid to soil them, or\nfrom any such cause should pass him by, and by and by I should look\nback and see another boy helping him, and should be really sorry and\npray to be forgiven, that would be a real prayer; but if I had done the\nkindness at the time of it, that would have been a deeper prayer.\n\nAUGUSTINE. When anybody has done wrong, and does not repent for a good\nwhile, but at last repents and prays to be forgiven, it may be too late\nto do anything about it; yet that might be a real prayer.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Imagine a real doing prayer in your life.\n\nLUCIA. Suppose, as I was going home from school, some friend of mine\nshould get angry with me, and throw a stone at me; I could pray not to\nbe tempted to do the same, to throw a stone at her, and would not.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. And would the not doing anything in that case be a prayer\nand an action? Keeping your body still would be the body's part of it.\n\nLUCIA. Yes.\n\nELLEN. I heard a woman say, once, that she could pray best when she\nwas at work; that when she was scouring the floor she would ask God to\ncleanse her mind.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. I will now vary my question. Is there any prayer in\nPatience?\n\nALL. A great deal.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. In Impatience?\n\nALL. No; not any.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. In Doubt?\n\nGEORGE K. No; but in Faith.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. In Laziness?\n\nALL (_but Josiah_). No; no kind of prayer.\n\nJOSIAH. I should think that Laziness was the prayer of the body,\nMr. Alcott.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Yes; it seems so. The body tries to be still more body; it\ntries to get down into the clay; it tries to sink; but the spirit is\nalways trying to lift it up and make it do something.\n\nEDWARD J. Lazy people sometimes have passions that make them act.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Yes; they act downwards. Is there any prayer in\nDisobedience?\n\nALL. No.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Is there any in submission? In forbearing when injured? In\nsuffering for a good object? In self-sacrifice?\n\nALL (_eagerly to each question_). Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.\n\n(_Mr. Alcott here made some very interesting remarks on loving God with\nall our heart, soul, mind, etc., and the Idea of Devotion it expressed.\nJosiah wanted to speak constantly, but Mr. Alcott checked him, that\nthe others might have opportunity, though the latter wished to yield\nto Josiah._)\n\nJOSIAH (_burst out_). Mr. Alcott! you know Mrs. Barbauld says in her\nhymns, everything is prayer; every action is prayer; all nature prays;\nthe bird prays in singing; the tree prays in growing; men pray; men can\npray more; we feel; we have more--more than nature; we can know and do\nright; Conscience prays; all our powers pray; action prays. Once we\nsaid here, that there was a \"Christ in the bottom of our spirits\" when\nwe try to be good; then we pray in Christ; and that is the whole.[6]\n\n[Footnote 6: This improvisation is preserved in its words. Josiah, it\nmay be named, was under seven years of age, and the other children were\nchiefly between the ages of six and twelve years.]\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Yes, Josiah, that is the whole. That is Universal\nPrayer--the adoration of the Universe to its Author!\n\nCHARLES. I was most interested in this verse--\"The day is coming, and\nnow is, when men shall worship the Father,\" etc. I think that this\nmeans that people are about to learn what to worship, and where.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Have you learned this to-day?\n\nCHARLES. Yes; I have learnt some new things, I believe.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. What are you to worship?\n\nCHARLES. Goodness.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Where is it?\n\nCHARLES. Within.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Within what?\n\nCHARLES. Conscience, or God.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Are you to worship Conscience?\n\nCHARLES. Yes.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Is it anywhere but in yourself?\n\nCHARLES. Yes; it is in Nature.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Is it in other people?\n\nCHARLES. Yes; there is more or less of it in other people, unless they\nhave taken it out.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Can it be entirely taken out?\n\nCHARLES. Goodness always lingers in Conscience.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Is Conscience anywhere but in Human Nature?\n\nCHARLES. It is in the Supernatural.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. You said at first that there was something in outward\nNature which we should worship.\n\nCHARLES. No; I don't think we should worship anything but the Invisible.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. What is the Invisible?\n\nCHARLES. It is the Supernatural.\n\nJOHN B. It is the Inward--the Spiritual. But I don't see why we should\nnot worship the sun a little as well--\n\nMR. ALCOTT. As well as the Sun-maker? But there are sun-worshippers.\n\nJOHN B. Yes; a little; for the sun gives us light and heat.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. What is the difference between your feeling when you think\nof the sun, or the ocean (_he described some grand scenes_), and\nwhen you think of Conscience acting in such cases as--(_he gave some\nstriking instances of moral power_). Is there not a difference?\n\n(_They raised their hands._)\n\nWhat is the name of the feeling with which you look at Nature?\n\nSEVERAL. Admiration.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. But when Conscience governs our weak body, is it not a\nSupernatural Force? Do you not feel the awe of the inferior before a\nsuperior nature? And is not that worship? The sun cannot produce it.\n\nJOSIAH. Spirit worships Spirit. Clay worships Clay.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Wait a moment, Josiah. I wish first to talk with the\nothers; let me ask them this question: Do you feel that Conscience is\nstronger than the mountain, deeper and more powerful than the ocean?\nCan you say to yourself, I can remove this mountain?\n\nJOSIAH (_burst out_). Yes, Mr. Alcott! I do not mean that with my body\nI can lift up a mountain--with my hand; but I can feel; and I know that\nmy Conscience is greater than the mountain, for it can feel and do; and\nthe mountain cannot. There is the mountain, there! It was made, and\nthat is all. But my Conscience can grow. It is the same kind of Spirit\nas made the mountain be, in the first place. I do not know what it may\nbe and do. The Body is a mountain, and the Spirit says, be moved, and\nit is moved into another place.\n\nMr. Alcott, we think too much about clay. We should think of Spirit.\nI think we should love Spirit, not Clay. I should think a mother now\nwould love her baby's Spirit; and suppose it should die, that is only\nthe Spirit bursting away out of the Body. It is alive; it is perfectly\nhappy. I really do not know why people mourn when their friends die.\nI should think it would be matter of rejoicing. For instance: now, if\nwe should go out into the street and find a box--an old dusty box--and\nshould put into it some very fine pearls, and by and by the box should\ngrow old and break, why, we should not even think about the box; but if\nthe pearls were safe, we should think of them and nothing else. So it\nis with the Soul and Body. I cannot see why people mourn for bodies.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Yes, Josiah; that is all true, and we are glad to hear it.\nShall some one else now speak besides you?\n\nJOSIAH. Oh, Mr. Alcott! then I will stay in the recess and talk.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. When a little infant opens its eyes upon this world, and\nsees things out of itself, and has the feeling of admiration, is there\nin that feeling the beginning to worship?\n\nJOSIAH. No, Mr. Alcott; a little baby does not worship. It opens its\neyes on the outward world, and sees things, and perhaps wonders what\nthey are; but it don't know anything about them or itself. It don't\nknow the uses of anything; there is no worship in it.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. But in this feeling of wonder and admiration which it has,\nis there not the beginning of worship that will at last find its object?\n\nJOSIAH. No; there is not even the beginning of worship. It must have\nsome temptation, I think, before it can know the thing to worship.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. But is there not a feeling that comes up from within, to\nanswer to the things that come to the eyes and ears?\n\nJOSIAH. But feeling is not worship, Mr. Alcott.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Can there be worship without feeling?\n\nJOSIAH. No; but there can be feeling without worship. For instance, if\nI prick my hand with a pin, I feel, to be sure, but I do not worship.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. That is bodily feeling. But may not the little infant find\nits power to worship in the feeling which is first only admiration of\nwhat is without.\n\nJOSIAH. No, no; I know what surprise is, and I know what admiration\nis; and perhaps the little creature feels that. But she does not know\nenough to know that she has conscience, or that there is temptation.\nMy little sister feels, and she knows some things; but she does not\nworship.\n\nMR. ALCOTT. Now I wish you all to think. What have we been talking\nabout to-day?\n\nCHARLES. Spiritual Worship.[7]\n\n[Footnote 7: Here I was obliged to pause, as I was altogether fatigued\nwith keeping my pen in long and uncommonly constant requisition. I was\nenabled to preserve the words better than usual, because Josiah had so\nmuch of the conversation, whose enunciation is slow, and whose fine\nchoice of language and steadiness of mind, makes him easy to follow and\nremember.--_Recorder._]\n\n\n\n\nPLUTARCH'S LETTER TO HIS WIFE.\n\n\n  SUNDAY, 30.\n\nI sometimes think the funeral rites and cemeteries of a people best\ncharacterize its piety. Contrast the modern with the primitive\ngrave-yards,--their funeral services so dismal, doleful, despairing: as\nif their faith in immortality were fittest clad in sables, and death\nwere a descent of souls, instead of an ascension. What fairer views of\nlife and of immortality our fresher faith exhibits. Verdure, cheerful\nmarbles, tasteful avenues, flowers, simple epitaphs, inscriptions\ncelebrating the virtues properly humane. What in the range of English\nlyric verse is comparable to Wordsworth's ode, entitled Intimations\nof Immortality in Childhood, or his prose Essay on Epitaphs. Nor\nis the contrast so disparaging between these and Pagan moralities.\nChristianity can hardly add to the sweetness and light, the tenderness,\ntrust in man's future well-being, shown in Plutarch's consolatory\nLetter to his Wife on the death of his little daughter. One becomes\nmore Christian, even, in copying it.\n\n\nPLUTARCH TO HIS WIFE--ALL HEALTH.\n\n\"As for the messenger you dispatched to tell me of the death of my\nlittle daughter, it seems he missed his way as he was going to Athens.\nBut when I came to Tanagra I heard of it by my niece. I suppose by\nthis time the funeral is over. I wish that whatever happens, as well\nnow as hereafter, may create you no dissatisfaction. But if you have\ndesignedly let anything alone, depending upon my judgment, thinking\nbetter to determine the point if I were with you, I pray let it be\nwithout ceremony or timorous superstition, which I know are far from\nyou. Only, dear wife, let you and me bear our affliction with patience.\nI know very well, and do comprehend what loss we have had; but if I\nshould find you grieve beyond measure, this would trouble me more than\nthe thing itself; for I had my birth neither from a stock nor stone,\nand you know it full well; I having been assistant to you in the\neducation of so many children, which we brought up at home under our\nown care.\n\n\"This much-lamented daughter was born after four sons, which made me\ncall her by your own name; therefore, I know she was dear to you, and\ngrief must have a peculiar pungency in a mind tenderly affectionate\nto children, when you call to mind how naturally witty and innocent\nshe was, void of anger, and not querulous. She was naturally mild\nand compassionate, to a miracle. And she showed delight in, and gave\na specimen of, her humanity and gratitude towards anything that had\nobliged her, for she would pray her nurse to give suck, not only to\nother children, but to her very playthings, as it were courteously\ninviting them to her table, and making the best cheer for them she\ncould. Now, my dear wife, I see no reason why these and the like\nthings which delighted us so much when she was alive, should, upon\nremembrance of them, afflict us when she is dead. But I also fear, lest\nwhile we cease from sorrowing, we should forget her, as Clymene said:--\n\n    I hate the handy horned bow,\n    And banish youthful pastimes now,\n\nbecause she would not be put in mind of her son, by the exercises\nhe had been used to. For nature always shuns such things as are\ntroublesome. But since our little daughter afforded all our senses\nthe sweetest and most charming pleasure, so ought we to cherish her\nmemory, which will in many ways conduce more to our joy than grief. And\nit is but just that the same arguments which we have ofttimes used to\nothers should prevail upon ourselves at this so seasonable a time, and\nthat we should not supinely sit down and overwhelm the joys which we\nhave tasted with a multiplicity of new griefs. Moreover, they who were\npresent at the funeral, report this with admiration, that you neither\nput on mourning, nor disguised yourself, or any of your maids; neither\nwere there any costly preparations, nor magnificent pomp, but that all\nthings were managed with prudence and moderation. And it seemed not\nstrange to me, that you, who never used richly to dress yourself, for\nthe theatre or other public solemnities, esteeming such magnificence\nvain and useless, even in matters of delight, have now practised\nfrugality on this finest occasion.... There is no philosopher of your\nacquaintance who is not in love with your frugality, both in apparel\nand diet; nor a citizen, to whom the simplicity and plainness of your\ndress is not conspicuous, both at religious sacrifices and public shows\nin the theatre. Formerly, also, you discovered on a like occasion, a\ngreat constancy of mind when you lost your eldest son. And again, when\nthe lovely Charon left us. For I remember when the news was brought me\nof my son's death, as I was returning home with some friends and guests\nwho accompanied me to my house, that when they beheld all things in\norder, and observed a profound silence everywhere (as they afterwards\ndeclared to others), they thought no such calamity had happened, but\nthat the report was false. So discreetly had you settled the affairs of\nthe house at that time, when no small confusion and disorder might have\nbeen expected. And yet you gave this son suck yourself, and endured\nthe lancing of your breast to prevent the ill effects of a contusion.\nThese are things worthy of a generous woman, and one that loves her\nchildren....\n\n\"Moreover, I would have you endeavor to call often to mind that time\nwhen our daughter was not as yet born to us, then we had no cause to\ncomplain of fortune. Then, joining that time with this, argue thus with\nyourself, that we are in the same condition as then. Otherwise, dear\nwife, we shall seem discontented at the birth of our little daughter\nif we own that our circumstances were better before her birth. But\nthe two years of her life are by no means to be forgotten by us, but\nto be numbered amongst our blessings, in that they afforded us an\nagreeable pleasure. Nor must we esteem a small good for a great evil,\nnor ungratefully complain of fortune for what she has actually given\nus, because she has not added what we wished for. Certainly, to speak\nreverently of the gods, and to bear our lot with an even mind, without\naccusing fortune, always brings with it a fair reward....\n\n\"But if you lament the poor girl because she died unmarried and without\noffspring, you have wherewithal to comfort yourself, in that you are\ndefective in none of these things, having had your share. And those are\nnot small benefits where they are enjoyed. But so long as she is gone\nto a place where she feels no pain, she has no need of our grief. For\nwhat harm can befall us from her when she is free from all hurt? And\nsurely, the loss of great things abates its grief when it is come to\nthis, that there is no more ground of grief, or care for them. But thy\nTimoxena was deprived but of small matters, for she had no knowledge\nbut of such, neither took she delight but in such small things. But for\nthat which she never was sensible of, nor so much as once did enter her\nthoughts, how can you say it is taken from you?\n\n\"As for what you hear others say, who persuade the vulgar that the\nsoul when once freed from the body, suffers no inconvenience or evil,\nnor is sensible at all, I know that you are better grounded in the\ndoctrines delivered down to us from our ancestors, as also in the\nsacred mysteries of Bacchus, than to believe such stories, for the\nreligious symbols are well known to us who are of the fraternity.\nTherefore, be assured that the soul, being incapable of death, suffers\nin the same manner as birds that are kept in a cage. For if she has\nbeen a long time educated and cherished in the body, and by long custom\nhas been made familiar with most things of this life, she will (though\nseparable) return to it again, and at length enters the body; nor\nceases it by new birth now and then to be entangled in the chances and\nevents of this life. For do not think that old age is therefore evil\nspoken of and blamed, because it is accompanied with wrinkles, gray\nhairs, and weakness of body; but this is the most troublesome thing in\nold age, that it stains and corrupts the soul with the remembrances of\nthings relating to the body, to which she was too much addicted; thus\nit bends and loves, retaining that form which it took of the body.\nBut that which is taken away in youth, being more soft and tractable,\nsoon returns to its native vigor and beauty, just like fire that is\nquenched, which, if it be forthwith kindled again, sparkles and burns\nout immediately.\n\n    As soon as e'er we take one breath\n    'T were good to pass the gates of death,\n\nbefore too great love of bodily and earthly things be engendered in\nthe soul, and it become soft and tender by being used to the body,\nand, as it were, by charms and portions incorporated with it. But the\ntruth of this will appear in the laws and traditions, received from\nour ancestors; for when children die, no libations nor sacrifices are\nmade for them, nor any other of those ceremonies which are wont to be\nperformed for the dead. For infants have no part of earth or earthly\naffections, nor do they hover or tarry about their sepulchres or\nmonuments, where their dead bodies are exposed. The religion of our\ncountry teaches us otherwise, and it is an impious thing not to believe\nwhat our laws and traditions assert, that the souls of infants pass\nimmediately into a better and more divine state; therefore, since it is\nsafer to give credit to our traditions than to call them in question,\nlet us comply with the custom in outward and public behavior, and let\nour interior be more unpolluted, pure and holy.\"\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nJUNE.\n\n\n    Rose leaves and buds, the season's flowers,\n    Scenting afresh the summer hours,\n    The ruddy morn, the evening's close,\n    Day's labors long and night's repose.\n\n\n\n\nBERRIES.\n\n\n  TUESDAY, 1.\n\nRise with the sun, if you would keep the commandments. The sleep\nyou get before midnight goes to virtue; after sunrise, to vice. \"It\nis wise,\" says Aristotle, \"to be up before daybreak, for such habit\ncontributes to health, wealth, and wisdom.\" If this virtue, commended\nalike by antiquity and by our sense of self-respect, has fallen into\ndiscredit in modern times, it was practised by our forefathers and bore\nits fruits. They\n\n    \"With much shorter and far sweeter sleep content,\n    Vigorous and fresh about their labors went.\"\n\n\"He that in the morning hath heard the voice of virtue,\" says\nConfucius, \"may die at night.\" And it were virtuous to rise early\nduring our June mornings to breakfast on strawberries with the robins,\nor what were as good, partake of Leigh Hunt's delicious Essay on these\nberries. One tastes them from his potted pages. And his very quotations\nare palatable.\n\n    \"My Lord of Ely, when I was last in Holburn,\n    I saw good strawberries in your garden there;\n    I pray you send for some of them.\"\n\nAn ancient may read \"Concord\" instead of \"my Lord of Ely's\" gardens,\nand enjoy the sight moreover of his grandson's vermilioned fingers\nwhile picking them; the berries in no wise inferior to his Lordship's\nin flavor or color, and far larger in size,--that Yankee superstition.\nBut one tastes none like the wild ones plucked fresh from the meadows\nof his native place, while the dews sparkled in the grasses, and the\nbobolink sought to decoy him from her nest there when he approached it.\nThe lay lingers in the ear still:--\n\n    \"A single note, so sweet and low,\n    Like a full heart's overflow,\n    Forms the prelude,--but the strain\n    Gives us no sweet tone again;\n    For the wild and saucy song\n    Leaps and skips the notes among\n    With such quick and sportive play,\n    Ne'er was merrier, madder lay.\"\n\nHerrick dished his with fresh cream from his \"little buttery\":--\n\n    \"You see the cream but naked is,\n    Nor dances in the eye\n    Without a strawberry,\n    Or some fine tincture like to this\n    Which draws the sight thereto.\"\n\nSo Milton's Eve in Eden,--\n\n    \"From many a berry and from sweet kernels pressed,\n    She tempered dulcet creams.\"\n\nAnd Aratus, whom St. Paul quotes concerning the gods, calls the berries\nin aid in describing the roseate cheek of health:--\n\n    \"Fair flesh like snow with vermilion mixed,\"\n\na line that took Goethe's fancy when composing his Theory of Colors.\n\nRandolph, too, Ben Jonson's young friend, rides out of London with\n\"worthy Stafford\" in quest of some,--\n\n    \"Come, spur away,\n    I have no patience for a longer stay;\n    But I must go down\n    And leave the changeable air of this great town.\n    I will the country see,\n    Where old simplicity,\n    Though hid in gray,\n    Doth look more gay\n    Than foppery in plush and scarlet clad;\n    Farewell ye city wits that are\n    Almost at city war,--\n    'Tis time that I grew wise when all the world is mad.\n\n    \"Here from the tree\n    We'll cherries pluck, and pick the strawberry;\n    And every day\n    Go see the wholesome girls make hay,\n    Whose brown hath lovelier grace\n    Than any painted face\n    That I do know\n    Hyde Park can show.\n\n    \"Then full, we'll seek a shade,\n    And hear what music's made;\n          How Philomel\n          Her tale doth tell,\n    And how the other birds do fill the choir,\n    The thrush and blackbird lend their throats,\n    Warbling melodious notes,\n    We will all sports enjoy that others do desire.\"\n\nThe strawberry, it appears, was not restored to gardens till within a\ncentury or two back. Evelyn mentions \"planting them out of the woods.\"\nI do not find it mentioned as a cultivated plant in the Greek or Roman\nrural authors. Phillips, in his History of Fruits, gives this pleasant\naccount of the origin of its name. That of \"an ancient practice of\nchildren threading the wild berries upon straws of grass,\" somewhat as\nrude country boys thread birds' egg-shells like beads, as ornaments for\ntheir mirrors. He says that this is still a custom in parts of England\nwhere they abound, and that so many \"straws of berries\" are sold for\na penny,--a more picturesque style of marketing than in pottles, or\nboxes. Evelyn mentions the kinds common in his time: Common Wood,\nEnglish, American, or Virginia, Polona, White, Ivy Red, the Green, and\nScarlet.\n\nCulpepper, in his British Herbal, says: \"This plant is so well known\nthat it needs no description. It grows in woods and is planted in\ngardens. It flowers in May; the fruit ripens soon after. Venus owns\nthe herb. The fruit, when green, is cool and dry; but when ripe, cool\nand moist.\" He gives a list of its medical virtues, among which, he\nsays, \"the water of the berries, carefully distilled, is a remedy and\ncordial in the panting and beating of the heart.\" It were almost worth\nhaving this trouble to be cured by his strawberry cordials.\n\nHe describes the raspberry, also called thimbleberry, and ascribes to\nit similar medical virtues.\n\nOf bilberries, he says there are two sorts common in England,--the\nblack and red. The red bilberry he calls \"whortleberry,\" and says:\n\"The black groweth in forests, on the heath, and such like barren\nplaces. The red grows in the north parts of this land, as Lancashire,\nYorkshire, etc., flowers in March and April, the fruit ripening in July\nand August.\" \"Both are under the dominion of Jupiter,\" and, if we may\nbelieve him, are very virtuous, it being \"a pity they are used no more\nin physic than they are.\" In August we gather as good in\n\n\n    OUR BLUEBERRY SWAMP.\n\n    \"Orange groves mid-tropic lie,\n    Festal for the Spaniard's eye,\n    And the red pomegranate grows\n    Where the luscious southwest blows;\n    Myrrh and spikenard in the East\n    Multiply the Persian's feast,\n    And our northern wilderness\n    Boasts its fruits our lips to bless.\n    Wouldst enjoy a magic sight,\n    And so heal vexation's spite?\n    Hasten to my blueberry swamp,--\n    Green o'erhead the wild bird's camp;\n    Here in thickets bending low,\n    Thickly piled the blueberries grow,\n    Freely spent on youth and maid,\n    In the deep swamp's cooling shade,\n    Pluck the clusters plump and full,\n    Handful after handful pull!\n    Choose which path, the fruitage hangs,--\n    Fear no more the griping fangs\n    Of the garden's spaded stuff,--\n    This is healthy, done enough.\n    Pull away! the afternoon\n    Dies beyond the meadow soon.\n    Art thou a good citizen?\n    Move into a blueberry fen;\n    Here are leisure, wealth, and ease,\n    Sure thy taste and thought to please,\n    Drugged with nature's spicy tunes,\n    Hummed upon the summer noons.\n\n    \"Rich is he that asks no more\n    Than of blueberries a store,\n    Who can snatch the clusters off,\n    Pleased with himself and them enough.\n    Fame?--the chickadee is calling;--\n    Love?--the fat pine cones are falling;\n    Heaven?--the berries in the air,--\n    Eternity--their juice so rare.\n    And if thy sorrows will not fly,\n    Then get thee down and softly die.\n    In the eddy of the breeze,\n    Leave the world beneath those trees,\n    And the purple runnel's tune\n    Melodize thy mossy swoon.\"\n\n    W. E. CHANNING.\n\n\n\n\nLETTERS.\n\n\n  THURSDAY, 3.\n\n    \"Love is the life of friendship; letters are\n    The life of love, the loadstones that by rare\n    Attractions make souls meet and melt, and mix,\n    As when by fire exalted gold we fix.\"\n\nBut for letters the best of our life would hardly survive the mood\nand the moment. Prompted by so lively a sentiment as friendship, we\ncommit to our leaves what we should not have spoken. To begin with\n\"Dear Friend\" is in itself an address which clothes our epistle in\na rhetoric the most select and choice. We cannot write it without\nconsidering its fitness and taxing our conscience in the matter. 'Tis\ncoming to the confessional, leaving nothing in reserve that falls\ngracefully into words. A life-long correspondence were a biography of\nthe correspondents. Preserve your letters till time define their value.\nSome secret charm forbids committing them to the flames; the dews of\nthe morning may sparkle there still, and remind one of his earlier Eden.\n\n\"Deeds are masculine, words feminine; letters are neither,\" wrote\nHowel. Rather say, letters are both, and better represent life than\nany form in literature. Women have added the better part, the most\ncelebrated letters having been written by women. If your morning's\nletter is not answered and dispatched forthwith, 'tis doubtful if it\nwill ever be written. Then there are those to whom one never writes,\nmuch as he may wish to cultivate correspondence. He reserves them for\npersonal intercourse.\n\nI hardly know which I most enjoy, the letter I send after my visitor,\nor the visit itself: the presence, the conversation, the recollection.\nMemory idealizes anticipation; our visit is made before we make\nit, made afterwards, as if love were a reminiscence of pleasures\nonce partaken in overflowing fulness. The visit that is not all we\nanticipated is not made; we meet as idealists, if we meet at all.\n\n    My moments are not mine, thou art in sight\n    By days' engagements and the dreams of night,\n    Nor dost one instant leave me free\n    Forgetful of thy world and thee.\n\nThe popular superstition favors long visits. I confess my experience\nhas not borne out the current creed. Compliment, of course, is of the\nother opinion, if we must take her fine accents of \"stay, stay longer.\"\nBut a week's stay with an angel would hardly bear the epithet angelic\nafter it was over. Fewer and farther between. Good things are good\nto keep long by temperate use. 'Tis true a visitor who comes seldom\nshould not fly away forthwith. And 'tis a comfort in these fast times\nto catch one who has a little leisure on hand, deaf the while to the\nengine's whistle. _Stay_ is a charming word in a friend's vocabulary.\nBut if one does not stay while staying, better let him go where he\nis gone the while. One enjoys a visitor who has much leisure in him,\nin her especially,--likes to take his friends by sips sweetly, not at\nhasty draughts, as they were froth and would effervesce forthwith and\nsubside. Who has not come from an interview as from a marriage feast,\nfeeling \"the good wine had been kept for him till _now_\"?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nDoes it imply a refinement in delicacy that nuptial verses have no\nplace with us in marriage ceremonies; that the service has lost the\nmystic associations wont to be thrown around it by our ancestors\ndown almost to our time? Once epithalamium verses were esteemed the\nfairest flowers, the ornament of the occasion. If the poet sometimes\noverstepped modern notions of reserve, the sentiments expressed were\nnot the less natural if more freely dealt with. Spenser, for instance,\nsuggests the loveliest images, and with all his wealth of fancy\nventures never a glimpse that a bride can blame; while Donne delights\nin every posture of fancy, as if he were love's attorney putting in\nhis plea for all delights,--yet delicately, oftentimes, and on other\noccasions, as in these lines entitled \"Love Tokens\":--\n\n    \"Send me some token that my hope may live,\n      Or that my ceaseless thoughts may sleep and rest;\n    Send me some honey to make sweet my hive,\n      That in my passions I may hope the best.\n    I beg no ribbon wrought with thine own hands\n      To knit our loves in the fantastic strain\n    Of new-touched youth; nor ring to show the stands\n      Of our affection:--that as that's round and plain,\n    So should our loves meet in simplicity,--\n      No, nor the corals which thy wrist infold\n    Laced up together in congruity\n      To show our thoughts should rest in the same hold:\n    No, nor thy picture, though most gracious,\n      And most desired since 'tis like the best,\n    Nor witty lines which are most copious\n      Within the writings which thou hast addressed:\n    Send me not this, nor that, to increase my store,\n    But swear thou think'st I love thee, and no more.\"\n\nTo the Lady Goodyeare he writes:--\n\n  \"MADAM:--I am not come out of England if I remain in the noblest part\n  of it, your mind. Yet I confess it is too much diminution to call\n  your mind any part of England, or this world, since every part of\n  even your body deserves titles to a higher dignity. No Prince would\n  be loath to die that were assured of so fair a tomb to preserve his\n  memory. But I have a greater advantage than this, for since there is\n  a religion in friendship, and death in absence, to make up an entire\n  friend there must needs be a heaven too; and there can be no heaven\n  so proportional to that religion and that death, as your favor.\n  And I am the gladder that it is a heaven, than it were a court, or\n  any other high place of this world, because I am likelier to have\n  a room there, and better, cheap. Madam, my best treasure is time,\n  and my best employment of that (next my thoughts of thankfulness\n  to my Redeemer) is to study good wishes for you, in which I am, by\n  continual meditation, so learned that any creature except your own\n  good angel, when it does you most good, might be content to come and\n  take instruction from\n\n    Your humble and affectionate servant,\n      J. D.\n\n  Amyens, the 7th of February, year 1611.\"\n\nWhat delicacy of compliment, coupled with nobility of sentiment, the\nfresh color of flattery not less, the rhetoric so graceful. One asks\nif our New-England reserve has added any graces to the Elizabethan\ncourtliness, and if any feel quite at home in its tight costumes. Is it\na want of taste if one is taken with such courtly compliments, lofty\nappreciation of character, such stately idealism, extravagant as it may\nappear, and bordering on insincerity? I wish my behavior, my letters,\nmy address, may blush becomingly, court my friends' eyes as well as\naffections, by coy diffidences, win by lively phrase, telling how\nlovely presence is. Friendship is a plant that loves the sun,--thrives\nill under clouds. I know temperaments have their zones, and can excuse\nthe frigid manner of some in whose breasts there burns a hidden flame.\nThere is a reserve that seems to fear the affections will be frosted\nby exposure, if not protected from any wind of acknowledgment. If\n\"your humble servant\" is written seldomer at the end of the letter,\nand \"Sir\" and \"Madam\" have dropped the once \"Dear\" and \"My Dear\"--used\nthese adjectively for ceremony's sake,--the address has lost so much\nwarmth and all the _abandon_ the words once implied. Must I withhold\nexpressing all I would, lest I should seem to imply more than I meant?\nAnd has one nothing personal and private to communicate? It were not\nunbecoming to inquire if our Puritan culture still held us in check,\nlife and literature were under eclipse, and the shadow threatening to\nbecome central and total.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOf celebrated letters, Pliny's are among the most delightful. A perusal\nof them refreshes and restores the old faith in persons and the\npossibilities of friendship. Alas for an age, if indifferent to this\nantique of virtue, the fair fellowships it celebrates, in the noble\nnames of which he gives so many illustrious examples in his charming\npages. Virtue seems something to be sought, to live and die for,\nevery accomplishment a part of it, and a possession. I confess to a\nfeeling, as I read, so modern and consonant to ideas and designs dear\nto me, that for the time I seem to recover brothers and friends--if it\nwere not egotism to say it--in the aims and ends which I have so long\nloved and still cherish as life's pursuit and problem. A vein of noble\nmorality pervades these letters which renders them admirable reading\nfor all times and ages. And his allusions to his own life and pursuits,\nthe glimpses he gives of his friends, commend his pages to all who seek\nvirtue and wisdom at their sources. To his friend Paternus he writes\nwith a tenderness and humanity to which the epithet Christian would add\nlittle.\n\n\"The sickness which has lately run through my family, and carried\noff several of my domestics, some of them, too, in the prime of their\nyears, has deeply afflicted me. I have two consolations, however; while\nthough they are not adequate to so considerable a loss, still they are\nconsolations. One is, that as I have always very readily manumized my\nslaves, their death does not seem altogether immature, if they lived\nlong enough to receive their freedom; the other, that I have allowed\nthem to make a kind of will, which I observe as religiously as if they\nwere legally entitled to that privilege. I receive and obey their\nlast requests as so many absolute commands, suffering them to dispose\nof their effects to whom they please; with this single restriction,\nthat they leave them to some of the family, which to persons in their\nstation is to be considered as a sort of commonwealth. But though I\nendeavor to acquiesce under these reflections, yet the same tenderness\nwhich led me to show them these indulgences, still breaks out and\nrenders me too sensitively affected by their deaths. However, I would\nnot wish to be incapable of these tender impressions of humanity,\nthough the generality of the world, I know, look upon losses of\nthis kind in no other view than as a diminution of their property,\nand fancy, by cherishing such an unfeeling temper, they discover\nsuperior fortitude and philosophy. Their fortitude and philosophy I\nwill not dispute; but humane, I am sure they are not; for it is the\nvery criterion of true manhood to feel those impressions of sorrow\nwhich it endeavors to resist, and to admit not to be above the want\nof consolation. But perhaps I have detained you too long upon this\nsubject, though not so long as I would. There is a certain pleasure\nin giving vent to one's grief, especially when we pour out our sorrow\nin the bosom of a friend, who will approve, or, at least, pardon our\ntears. Farewell.\"\n\nAgain to Geminitus:--\n\n\"Have you never observed a sort of people who, though they are\nthemselves the abject slaves of every vice, show a kind of malicious\nindignation against the immoral conduct of others, and are the most\nsevere to those whom they most resemble? Yet surely a beauty of\ndisposition, even in persons who have least occasion for clemency\nthemselves, is of all virtues the most becoming. The highest of\ncharacter in my estimation, is His, who is as ready to pardon the moral\nerrors of mankind as if he were every day guilty of some himself, and\nat the same time as cautious of committing a fault as if he never\nforgave one. It is a rule, then, which we should upon all occasions,\nboth private and public, most religiously observe, _to be inexorable to\nour own failings, while we treat those of the rest of the world with\ntenderness, not excepting even those who forgive none but themselves_,\nremembering always that the humane, and, therefore, as well as upon\nother accounts, the great Thrasea, used frequently to say, '_He who\nhates vice hates mankind_.' You will ask me, perhaps, who it is that\nhas given occasion to these reflections. You must know a certain person\nlately,--but of that when we meet,--though, upon second thoughts, not\neven then, lest while I condemn and expose his conduct, I should act\ncounter to that maxim I particularly recommend. Whoever, therefore, and\nwhatever he is, shall remain in silence; for though there may be some\nuse, perhaps, in setting a mark upon the man, for the sake of example,\nthere will be more, however, in sparing him, for the sake of humanity.\"\n\nAgain:--\n\n\"There are, it seems,\" he writes to his friend Septitius, \"certain\npersons who in your company have blamed me, as being upon all occasions\ntoo lavish in commendation of my friends. I not only acknowledge the\ncharge, but glory in it; for, can there be a nobler error than an\noverflowing benevolence? But still, who are these, let me ask, that are\nbetter acquainted with my friends than I am myself? Yet, grant there\nare such, why will they deny me the satisfaction of so pleasing an\nerror? For, supposing my friends deserve not the high encomiums I give\nthem, certainly I am happy in believing they do. Let them recommend,\nthen, this ungenerous discernment to those who imagine (and their\nnumber is not inconsiderable) that they show their judgment when they\nindulge their censure. As for myself, they will never persuade me that\nI can love my friends too well.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHow amiable and just are sentiments like these rendering odious the\ncarping censure and ill-natured criticism which finds free currency\nbetween those who, while meeting as acquaintances, perhaps affecting\nfriendship for each other, yet speak disparagingly, and are loath to\nacknowledge the merit which they see in each other's character and\nacquirements. It is safer, and certainly more becoming, to overpraise\nthan to undervalue and dispraise another. Faults are apparent enough,\nand, for the most part, superficial; in the atmosphere of affection\nand respect they fall away presently and disappear altogether, while\nvirtues may be too deep sometimes and delicate in expression to be\nrecognized readily by those who seek for blemishes rather. Modest\npraise is the freshest and purest atmosphere for modest virtue to\nthrive in and come to maturity. And the most exalted qualities of\ncharacter admiration alone brings into the relief that discloses their\nproportions and reveals their lustre. A certain sentiment of worship\ninsinuates itself into our affections for a near and dear friend; and\nwhile endearing us the more, yet holds us at the distance of reverence\nand of self-respect that belongs to the noblest friendships. 'Tis the\npoverty of life that renders friendship poor and cold. I am drawn to\none who, while I approach yet seems distant still; whose personality\nhas a quality so commanding as to forbid a familiarity not justified\nby affection and reason alike, and whom I never quite come up to, but\nyet is akin to me in the attributes that win my regard and insure my\naffection. A good man is a bashful man; he affects all who come within\nhis influence with that grace. Do not the gods blush in descending to\nmeet alike our affections and our eyes?\n\n    \"The eldest god is still a child.\"\n\n\n\n\nBOOKS.\n\n\n  TUESDAY, 8.\n\nNext to a friend's discourse, no morsel is more delicious than a ripe\nbook, a book whose flavor is as refreshing at the thousandth tasting\nas at the first. Books when friends weary, conversation flags, or\nnature fails to inspire. The best books appeal to the deepest in us and\nanswer the demand. A book loses if wanting the personal element, gains\nwhen this is insinuated, or comes to the front occasionally, blending\nhistory with mythology.\n\nMy favorite books have a personality and complexion as distinctly\ndrawn as if the author's portrait were framed into the paragraphs and\nsmiled upon me as I read his illustrated pages. Nor could I spare\nthem from my table or shelves, though I should not open the leaves\nfor a twelvemonth;--the sight of them, the knowledge that they are\nwithin reach, accessible at any moment, rewards me when I invite their\ncompany. Borrowed books are not mine while in hand. I covet ownership\nin the contents, and fancy that he who is conversant with these is the\nrightful owner, and moreover, that the true scholar owes to scholars a\ncatalogue of his chosen volumes, that they may learn from whence his\nentertainment during leisure moments. Next to a personal introduction,\na list of one's favorite authors were the best admittance to his\ncharacter and manners. His library were not voluminous. He might\nspecify his favorites on his fingers, and spare the printer's type.\n\n\"Books have many charming qualities to such as know how to choose\nthem.\" And without Plutarch, no library were complete.\n\nCan we marvel at his fame, or overestimate the surpassing merits of his\nwritings? It seems as I read as if none before, none since, had written\nlives, as if he alone were entitled to the name of biographer,--such\nintimacy of insight is his, laying open the springs of character,\nand through his parallels portraying his times as no historian had\ndone before: not Plato, even, in the livelier way of dialogue with\nhis friends. Then his morals are a statement of the virtues for all\ntimes. And I read the list of his lost writings, not without a sense\nof personal wrong done to me, with emotions akin to what the merchant\nmight feel in perusing the bill of freight after the loss of his\nvessel. Hercules, Hesiod, Pindar, Leonidas, Scipio, Augustus, Claudius,\nEpaminondas, minds of mark, all these and other precious pieces gone\nto the bottom: his books on the Academy of Plato, The Philosophers,\nand many more of this imperial freight, to be read by none now. Still,\nthere remains so much to be grateful for; so many names surviving to\nperpetuate virtue and all that is splendid in fame, with his own. I for\none am his debtor, not for noble examples alone, but for portraits of\nthe possibilities of virtue, and all that is dearest in friendship, in\nhis attractive pages. It is good exercise, good medicine, the reading\nof his books,--good for to-day, as in times it was preceding ours,\nsalutary reading for all times.\n\nMontaigne also comes in for a large share of the scholar's regard.\nOpened anywhere, his page is sensible, marrowy, quotable. He may be\ntaken up, too, and laid aside carelessly without loss, so inconsequent\nis his method, and he so careless of his wealth. Professing nature\nand honesty of speech, his page has the suggestions of the landscape,\nis good for striking out in any direction, suited to any mood, sure\nof yielding variety of information, wit, entertainment,--not to be\ncommanded, to be sure, without grave abatements, to be read with good\nthings growing side by side with things not such and tasting of the\napple. Still, with every abatement, his book is one of the ripest and\nmellowest, and, bulky as it is, we wish there were more of it. He\nseems almost the only author whose success warrants in every stroke of\nhis pen his right to guide it: he of the men of letters, the prince\nof letters; since writing of life, he omits nothing of its substance,\nbut tells all with a courage unprecedented. His frankness is charming.\nSo his book has indescribable attractions, being as it were a Private\nBook,--his diary self-edited, and offered with an honesty that wins\nhis readers, he never having done bestowing his opulent hospitalities\non him, gossiping sagely, and casting his wisdom in sport to any who\ncare for it. Everywhere his page is alive and rewarding, and we are\ndisappointed at finding his book comes to an end like other books.\n\nLord Herbert's Autobiography is a like example of sincerity and\nnaturalness. If he too often play the cavalier, and is of a temper\nthat brooks not the suspicion of insult, he is equally eager to defend\nwhen friendship or humanity render it a duty. The brothers, Edward\nand George, were most estimable characters. To George how largely are\nwe in debt for his sacred verses, the delight and edification of the\nsaints wherever they are known. Add Vaughan and Crashaw. And making\ndue allowance for the time when Herrick's verses were written, his\ntemptation to suit the tastes of courtiers and kings, his volumes\ncontain much admirable poetry, tempered with religious devotion. He\nwrote sweet and virtuous verse, with lines here and there that should\nnot have been written. But he is an antidote to the vice in his lines,\nand may well have place in the scholar's library with Donne, Daniel,\nCowley, Shakespeare, and contemporaries.\n\nIf one would learn the titles and gain insight into the contents of the\nbest books in our literature, let him track Coleridge in his readings\nand notes as these have been collected and published in his Literary\nRemains and Table Talk. He explored the wide field of literature and\nphilosophy, and brought to light richer spoils than any scholar of his\ntime, or since. His reading was not only choice, but miscellaneous.\nNothing of permanent value appears to have escaped his searching\nglance, and his criticisms on books are among the most valuable\ncontributions to British letters. He knew how to read to get and give\nthe substance of the book in sprightly comment and annotation on the\ntext. His judgments are final and exhaustive. To follow him were an\neducation in itself.\n\nOne's diary is attractive reading, and productive, if he have the art\nof keeping one.\n\nThoreau wrote in his:--\n\n\"I set down such choice experiences that my own writings may inspire\nme, and at last I may make wholes of parts. Certainly it is a distinct\nprofession to rescue from oblivion and to fix the sentiments and\nthoughts which visit all men, more or less, generally, and that the\ncontemplation of the unfinished picture may suggest its harmonious\ncompletion. Associate reverently and as much as you can with your\nloftiest thoughts. Each thought that is welcomed and recorded is\na nest-egg by the side of which another will be laid. Thoughts\naccidentally thrown together become a frame in which more may be\ndeveloped and exhibited. Perhaps this is the main value of a habit of\nwriting or keeping a journal,--that is, we remember our best draught,\nand stimulate ourselves. My thoughts are my company. They have a\ncertain individuality and separate existence, large personality.\nHaving by chance recorded a few disconnected thoughts and then brought\nthem into juxtaposition, they suggest a whole new field in which it\nis possible to labor and think. Thought begets thought. I have a\ncommonplace-book for facts, and another for poetry. But I find it\ndifficult always to preserve the vague distinctions which I had in my\nmind, for the most interesting and beautiful facts are so much the more\npoetry,--and that is their success. They are translated from earth to\nheaven. I see that if my facts were sufficiently vital and significant,\nperhaps transmuted more into the substance of the human mind, I should\nneed but one book of poetry to contain them all.\n\n\"I do not know but thoughts written down thus in a journal might be\nprinted in the same form with greater advantage than if the related\nones were brought together into separate essays. They are allied to\nlife, and can be seen by the reader not to be far-fetched; thus, more\nsimple, less artful. I feel that in the other case, I should have a\nproper form for my sketches. Here facts and names and dates communicate\nmore than we suspect. Whether the flower looks better in the nosegay\nthan in the meadow where it grew, and we had to wet our feet to get\nit? Is the scholastic air any advantage? Perhaps I can never find so\ngood a setting for thoughts as I shall thus have taken them out of.\nThe crystal never sparkles more brightly than in the cavern. The world\nhave always liked best the fable with the moral. The children could\nread the fable alone. The grown-up read both. The truth so told has\nthe best advantages of the most abstract statement, for it is not the\nless universally applicable. Where else will you ever find the true\ncement for your thoughts? How will you ever rivet them together without\nleaving the marks of your file?\n\n\"Yet Plutarch did not so. Montaigne did not so. Men have written\ntravels in this form; but perhaps no man's daily life has been rich\nenough to be journalized. Yet one's life should be so active and\nprogressive as to be a journey. But I am afraid to travel much, or to\nfamous places, lest it might completely dissipate the mind. Then I am\nsure that what we observe at home, if we observe anything, is of more\nimportance than what we observe abroad. The far-fetched is of least\nvalue. What we observe in travelling are to some extent the accidents\nof the body; but what we observe when sitting at home are in the same\nproportion phenomena of the mind itself. A wakeful night will yield as\nmuch thought as a long journey. If I try thoughts by their quality, not\ntheir quantity, I may find that a restless night will yield more than\nthe longest journey.\"\n\nThese masterpieces, Thoreau's Diaries, are a choice mingling of\nphysical and metaphysical elements. They show the art above art which\nwas busied about their composition. They come near fulfilling the\nhighest ends of expression; the things seen become parts of the\ndescriber's mind, and speak through his Person. Quick with thought, his\nsentences are colored and consolidated therein by his plastic genius.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOf gifts, there seems none more becoming to offer a friend than a\nbeautiful book, books of verse especially. How exquisite these verses\nof Crashaw's, \"Addressed to a Lady with a Prayer Book.\"\n\n    \"Lo, here a little volume, but great book,\n        Fear it not, sweet,\n        It is no hypocrite,\n    Much larger in itself, than in its look.\n\n    \"It is, in one rich handful, heaven and all\n    Heaven's royal hosts encamp'd, thus small,\n    To prove that true schools used to tell\n    A thousand angels in one point can dwell.\n\n    \"'Tis Love's great artillery\n    Which here contracts itself and comes to lie\n    Close couched in your white bosom, and from thence\n    As from a snowy fortress of defence\n    Against the ghostly foe to take your part,\n    And fortify the hold of your chaste heart.\n\n    \"It is the armory of light,\n    Let constant use but keep it bright,\n        You'll find it yields\n    To holy hands and humble hearts,\n        More swords and shields\n    Than sin hath snares, or hell hath darts.\n        Only be sure\n        The hands be pure\n    That hold these weapons, and the eyes\n    Those of turtles, chaste and true,\n        Wakeful and wise.\n\n    \"Here is a friend shall fight for you;\n    Hold this book before your heart,\n    Let prayer alone to play his part.\n\n        \"But O! the heart\n        That studies this high art,\n        Must be a sure housekeeper,\n        And yet no sleeper.\n\n    \"Dear soul, be strong,\n    Mercy will come ere long,\n    And bring her bosom full of blessings;\n        Flowers of never-fading graces\n    To make immortal dressings\n        For worthy souls, whose wise embraces\n    Store up themselves for him, who is alone\n    The spouse of virgins, and the Virgin's Son.\n\n    \"But if the noble bridegroom when he come\n    Shall find the wandering heart from home,\n        Leaving her chaste abode\n        To gad abroad\n    Amongst the gay mates of the god of flies,\n    To take her pleasures, and to play\n        And keep the devil's holiday;\n    To dance in the sunshine of some smiling\n        But beguiling\n    Spear of sweet and sugared lies;\n    Some slippery pair\n    Of false, perhaps as fair,\n    Flattering, but forswearing eyes,\n    Doubtless some other heart\n        Will get the start,\n        And stepping in before,\n    Will take possession of the sacred store\n        Of hidden sweets and holy joys,\n        Words which are not heard with ears\n        (Those tumultuous shops of noise),\n        Effectual whispers, whose still voice\n    The soul itself more feels than hears;\n    Amorous languishments, luminous trances,\n        Sights which are not seen with eyes;\n    Spiritual and soul-piercing glances,\n    Whose pure and subtle lightning flies\n    Home to the heart and sets the house on fire,\n    And melts it down in sweet desire,\n        Yet doth not stay\n    To ask the window's leave to pass that way.\n    An hundred thousand loves and graces,\n        And many a mystic thing\n        Which the divine embraces,\n    Of the dear spouse of spirits with them will bring,\n        For which it is no shame\n    That dull mortality must not know a name.\n\n    Of all this hidden store\n    Of blessings, and ten thousand more,\n        If when he come\n    He find the heart from home,\n    Doubtless he will unload\n    Himself some otherwhere,\n        And pour abroad\n        His precious sweets\n    On the fair soul whom first he meets.\"\n\n\n\n\nSPECULATIVE PHILOSOPHY.\n\n\n  THURSDAY, 10.\n\nThe first number of Volume III. of the \"Journal of Speculative\nPhilosophy\" comes to hand, printed in fair type, with promise of\nattracting attention from thinkers at home and abroad. And it is a\nsignificant fact that the most appreciative notice yet taken of this\nJournal comes from Germany, and is written by the President of the\nBerlin Philosophical Society. Nor less remarkable that this first\nattempt to popularize Philosophy, so far as practicable, should\ndate from the West, and show an ability in dealing with speculative\nquestions that may well challenge the attainments of thinkers\neverywhere,--the translations showing a ripe scholarship, and covering\nalmost the whole range of historic thinking.[8]\n\n[Footnote 8: \"Nothing is more interesting in the history of the human\nmind than the tendency of enlightened souls in all ages to gather\nin clusters, as in the material world crystallization goes on by\nthe gathering of individual atoms about one axis of formation. Thus\nthe schools of Greek Philosophy, the Pythagorean, the Eleatic, the\nPeripatetic, the Alexandrian, were human crystallizations about a\ncentral idea, and generally in a given locality,--as Samos, Athens, or\nthe Lucanian city of Elea, where Zeno learned lessons of Parmenides,\nand whence they both journeyed to Athens in the youth of Socrates, and\nheld their \"Radical Club\" at the house of Pythodorus in the Ceramicus.\nThe Schoolmen and the Mystics of the middle ages clustered together in\nthe same way about Abelard. Thomas Aquinas, Occam, Gerson, Giardano\nBruno, the early Italian poets, rally in groups in the same way; so\ndo the Elizabethan Dramatists, the Puritan Politicians, the English\nPlatonists. Coming nearer our own time, there are the Lake Poets of\nEngland, the Weimar circle of genius, in Germany, the Transcendental\nIdealists in Concord and Boston, and finally, the German American\nPhilosophers of St. Louis, concerning whom we now speak. In all\nthese Schools and Fellowships of the human soul, a common impulse,\naided by accident of locality and other circumstances, trivial only\nin appearance, has led to the formation of that strictest bond,\nthe friendship of united aspirations. New England has so long been\nconsidered the special home of ideas, that it may surprise one to\nlearn that St. Louis, on the Mississippi, has become the focus of a\nmetaphysical _renaissance_; yet such it has become. A few Germans,\nNew Englanders, and Western men gathered there, having found each\nother out, began to meet, expatiate, and confer about Kant and Hegel,\nFichte, and Sir William Hamilton. Soon they formed a Philosophical\nSociety, and by and by, having accumulated many manuscripts, they began\nto publish a Magazine of \"Speculative Philosophy.\" At first, this\npublication came out semi-occasionally, but finally settled down into\na regular Quarterly, with contributors on both sides of the Atlantic,\nand from various schools of metaphysical thought. The January number\nis, indeed, a remarkable production. Every article is good, and most of\nthem profound; no such collection of striking varieties of philosophic\nthought has been made public for a long time as this. The Journal\nis edited by William T. Harris, LL.D., Superintendent of the Public\nSchools of St. Louis.\"\n\n  F. B. SANBORN,\n  _in \"Springfield Republican,\" March, 1869._]\n\nEngland, too, has at last found a metaphysician that Coleridge would\nhave accepted and prized. And the more that he follows himself in\nintroducing philosophy from Germany into Britain. James Hutchison\nStirling's fervor and strength in advocating Hegel's ideas command the\nhighest respect. Having had Schelling's expositor in Coleridge, we now\nhave Hegel's in Stirling; and, in a spirit of catholicity shown to\nforeign thought unexpected in an Englishman, promising not a little in\nthe way of qualifying favorably the metaphysics of Britain. Nothing\nprofound nor absolute can be expected from minds of the type of Mill,\nHerbert Spencer, and the rest,--if not hostile, at least indifferent\nto and incapable of idealism; naturalists rather than metaphysicians.\nIt will be a most hopeful indication if Stirling's book, the \"Secret of\nHegel,\" find students among his countrymen. Cavilling there will be,\nof course, misapprehension, much nonsense uttered concerning Hegel's\nPrime Postulates. But what was thought out fairly in Germany, must find\nits way and prompt comprehension in England; if not there, then here\nin New England, out of whose heart a fresh philosophy should spring\nforth, to which the German Hegel shall give impulse and furtherance.\nThe work has already begun, with Harris's publishing the thoughts of\nthe world's thinkers, himself familiar with the best of all thinking.\nI look for a more flowing, inspiring type of thought, Teutonic as\nGreek, of a mystic coloring transcending Boehme, Swedenborg, and freed\nfrom the biblicisms of the schools of our time. Hegel's secret is that\nof pure thought akin with that of Parmenides, Plato, Aristotle, the\nancient masters in philosophy. The One is One out of whose womb the Not\nOne is born to perish perpetually at its birth. Whoso pronounces PERSON\napprehensively, speaks the secret of all things, and holds the key to\nall mysteries in nature and spirit.\n\nFor further encouragement, moreover, we are promised a translation\nof the complete works of Plotinus, by a learned contributor to the\n\"Journal,\" who has qualifications for that service unsurpassed,\nperhaps, by any on this side of the Atlantic.\n\nHe writes from St. Louis:--\n\n\"I have tried my hand on Plotinus, and find it easy to render the text\ninto modern philosophical phraseology. Until lately I have been unable\nto procure a good critical edition of the Greek philosopher. And now,\nif my energies are spared, a translation of his entire works is not\nvery far in the future.\"[9]\n\n[Footnote 9: His works are comprised in fifty-four books, which his\ndisciple Porphyry divided into six Enneads, assigning, agreeably to\nthe meaning of the word, nine books to every Ennead. Thomas Taylor\ntranslated parts of these only.]\n\nIt were a good test of one's aptitude for metaphysical studies, his\nappreciation of Plotinus. Profound as any predecessor of the Platonic\nschool of idealism, he had the remarkable merit of treating ideas\nin a style at once transparent and subtle, dealing with these as if\nthey were palpable things, such was his grasp of thought and felicity\nin handling. His themes are of universal concernment at all times.\nPromoting a catholic and manly method, his books were good correctives\nof any exclusiveness still adhering in our schools of science and\ndivinity, while the tendencies of his time, as in ours, were towards\ncomparative studies.\n\nA like tendency appeared, also, in England in the studies of the\nBritish Platonists, or Latitudinarians,--Dr. Henry More, Dr. Cudworth,\nDr. Rust, Norris, Glanvil, John Smith, whose writings deserve a place\nin theological libraries, and the study of divines especially.\n\nNorris thus praises his friend Dr. More, whose works had high repute\nand were much studied in his day:--\n\n    \"Others in learning's chorus bear their part,\n    And the great work distinctly share;\n    Thou, our great catholic professor art,\n    All science is annexed to thy unerring chair;\n    Some lesser synods of the wise\n    The Muses kept in universities;\n    But never yet till in thy soul\n    Had they a council oecumenical:\n    An abstract they'd a mind to see\n    Of all their scattered gifts, and summed them up in thee.\n    Thou hast the arts whole Zodiac run,\n    And fathom'st all that here is known;\n    Strange restless curiosity,\n    Adam himself came short of thee,--\n    He tasted of the fruit, thou bearest away the tree.\"\n\nAnd More writes of Plotinus:--\n\n                \"Who such things did see,\n    Even in the tumult that few can arrive\n      Of all are named from philosophy,\n    To that high pitch or to such secrets dive.\"[10]\n\n[Footnote 10: \"It would make a most delightful and instructive\nessay,\" says Coleridge, \"to draw up a critical, and, where possible,\nbiographical account of the Latitudinarian party at Cambridge, from the\nreign of James I to the latter half of Charles II. The greater number\nwere Platonists, so called, at least, and such they believed themselves\nto be, but more truly Plotinists. Thus Cudworth, Dr. Jackson (chaplain\nof Charles I and Vicar of Newcastle upon Tyne), Henry More, John Smith,\nand some others (Norris, Glanvil). Jeremy Taylor was a Gassendist, and,\nas far as I know, he is the only exception. They were alike admirers\nof Grotius, which, in Taylor, was consistent with the tone of all his\nphilosophy. The whole party, however, and a more amiable never existed,\nwere scared and disgusted into this by the catachrestic language and\nthe skeleton half truths of the systematic divines of the synod of\nDort on the one hand, and by the sickly broodings of the Pietists\nand Solomon's Song preachers on the other. What they all wanted was\na pre-inquisition into the mind, as part organ, part constituent, of\nall knowledge,--an examination of the scales and weights and measures\nthemselves abstracted from the objects to be weighed or measured by\nthem; in short, a transcendental \u00e6sthetic, logic, and noetic. Lord\nHerbert was at the entrance of, nay, already some paces within, the\nshaft and adit of the mine; but he turned abruptly back, and the honor\nof establishing a complete [Greek: propaideia] (Organon) of philosophy\nwas reserved for Immanuel Kant, a century or more afterwards.\"--_Lit.\nRemains_, iii. 416.]\n\n\nPLOTINUS.\n\nPlotinus was by birth an Egyptian, a native of Sycopolis. He died at\nthe conclusion of the second year of the reign of M. Aurelius Flavius\nClaudius, at the age of sixty-six. On his friend Eustochius coming from\na distance and approaching him when dying, he said: \"As yet I have\nexpected you, and now I endeavor that my divine part may return to that\ndivine nature which flourishes throughout the universe.\"\n\nTaylor says of him, \"He was a philosopher pre-eminently distinguished\nfor the strength and profundity of his intellect, and the purity and\nelevation of his life. He was wise without the usual mixture of human\ndarkness, and great without the general combination of human weakness\nand imperfection. He seems to have left the orb of light solely for the\nbenefit of mankind, that he might teach them how to repair the ruin\ncontracted by their exile from good, and how to return to their true\ncountry and legitimate kindred allies. I do not mean that he descended\ninto mortality for unfolding the sublimest truths to the multitude,\nfor this would have been a vain and ridiculous attempt, since their\neyes, as Plato justly observes, are not strong enough to look at truth.\nBut he came as a guide to the few who are born with a divine destiny,\nand are struggling to gain the lost region of light, but know not how\nto break the fetters by which they are detained; who are impatient to\nleave the obscure cavern of sense, where all is delusion and shadow,\nand to ascend to the realms of intellect, where all is substance and\nreality.\"\n\nHis biographers speak of him with the truest admiration. He was foreign\nfrom all sophistical ostentation and pride, and conducted himself in\nthe company of disputants with the same freedom and ease as in his\nfamiliar discourses; for true wisdom, when it is deeply possessed,\ngives affability and modesty to the manners, illumines the countenance\nwith a divine serenity, and diffuses over the whole external form an\nair of dignity and ease. Nor did he hastily disclose to every one the\nlogical necessities latent in his conversation. He was strenuous in\ndiscourse, and powerful in discovering what was appropriate. While\nhe was speaking, there was every indication of the predominance of\nintellect in his conceptions. The light of it diffused itself over\nhis countenance, which was indeed, at all times, lovely, but was\nthen particularly beautiful; a certain attenuated and dewy moisture\nappeared on his face, and a pleasing mildness shone forth. Then, also,\nhe exhibited a gentleness in receiving questions, and demonstrated a\nvigor uncommonly robust in their solution. He was rapidly filled with\nwhat he read, and having in a few words given the meaning of a profound\ntheory, he arose. He borrowed nothing from others, his conceptions\nbeing entirely his own, and his theories original. He could by no means\nendure to read twice what he had written. Such, indeed, was the power\nof his intellect, that when he had once conceived the whole disposition\nof his thoughts from the beginning to the end, and had afterwards\ncommitted them to writing, his composition was so connected, that he\nappeared to be merely transcribing a book. Hence he would discuss his\ndomestic affairs without departing from the actual intention of his\nmind, and at one and the same time transact the necessary negotiations\nof friendship, and preserve an uninterrupted survey of the things he\nhad proposed to consider. In consequence of this uncommon power of\nintellection, when he returned to writing, after the departure of the\nperson with whom he had been conversing, he did not review what he had\nwritten; and yet he so connected the preceding with the subsequent\nconceptions, as if his composition had not been interrupted. Hence,\nhe was at the same time present with others and with himself; so that\nthe self-converted energy of his intellect was never remitted, except\nin sleep, which his admirable temperance in meats and drinks, and his\nconstant conversion to intellect, contributed in no small measure\nto expel. Though he was attentive to his pupils and the necessary\nconcerns of life, the intellectual energy of his soul while he was\nawake never suffered any interruption from externals, nor any remission\nof vigor. He was likewise extremely mild in his manners, and easy\nof access to all his friends and adherents. Hence, so great was his\nphilosophic urbanity, that though he resided at Rome six and twenty\nyears, and had been the arbitrator in many litigious causes which he\namicably dissolved, yet he had scarcely an enemy throughout that vast\nand illustrious city. Indeed, he was so highly esteemed, not only by\nthe senate and people of Rome, that the Emperor Galienus and his wife\nSalonica honored his person and reverenced his doctrine; and relying\non his benevolence, requested that a city in Campania, which had been\nformerly destroyed, might be restored, and rendered a fit habitation\nfor philosophers, and besides this, that it might be governed by the\nlaws of Plato, and called Platonopolis.\n\n\n\n\nIDEAL CULTURE.\n\n\n  THURSDAY, 17.\n\nThe new courses of lectures at Harvard University are advertised by\nthe new President. They are a novelty in our college culture. A marked\npeculiarity is the announcement of a course to be given by Emerson, on\nthe Natural History of Intellect; by Dr. Hedge, on Theism, Atheism, and\nPantheism; and by J. Eliot Cabot, on Kant. The course, or any part of\nit, is open \"to graduates, teachers, and other competent persons, men\nor women.\"\n\nIt is hoped, also, that Hutchison Stirling may be added to the list of\nlecturers,--an acquisition certainly that Harvard should be proud to\nsecure, both for its own and the credit of metaphysical studies on this\nside of the Atlantic.\n\nThe English mind seems to have held aloof from pure metaphysics,--from\nGerman Idealism, especially. Berkeley, its finest thinker since\nBacon, was for a long time misapprehended, if, indeed, he is\nfairly appreciated as yet. Boehme, Kant, Schelling, were unknown\ntill Coleridge introduced their ideas to the notice of his\ncontemporaries--Carlyle those of Goethe, and the great scholars of\nGermany.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Great, indeed,\" says Coleridge, \"are the obstacles which an English\nmetaphysician has to encounter. Amongst his most respectable and\nintelligent judges, there will be many who have devoted their attention\nexclusively to the concerns and interests of human life, and who bring\nwith them to the perusal of philosophical systems, an habitual aversion\nto all speculations, the utility and application of which are not\nevident and immediate.\n\n\"There are others whose prejudices are still more formidable, inasmuch\nas they are grounded in their moral feelings and religious principles,\nwhich had been alarmed and shocked by the injurious and pernicious\ntenets defended by Hume, Priestley, and the French Fatalists, or\nNecessitarians, some of whom had perverted metaphysical reasonings\nto the denial of the mysteries, and, indeed, of all the peculiar\ndoctrines of Christianity; and others, to the subversion of all\ndistinctions between right and wrong.\n\n\"A third class profess themselves friendly to metaphysics, and believe\nthat they are themselves metaphysicians. They have no objection to\nsystem and terminology provided it be the method and nomenclature to\nwhich they have been familiarized in the writings of Locke, Hume,\nHartley, Condillac, or, perhaps, Dr. Reid and Professor Stewart.\n\n\"But the worst and widest impediment remains. It is the predominance of\na popular philosophy, at once the counterfeit and mortal enemy of all\ntrue and manly metaphysical research. It is that corruption introduced\nby certain immethodical aphorisming Eclectics, who, dismissing, not\nonly all system, but all logical consequence, pick and choose whatever\nis most plausible and showy; who select whatever words can have\nsemblance of sense attached to them, without the least expenditure of\nthought; in short, whatever may enable men to talk of what they do not\nunderstand, with a careful avoidance of everything that might awaken\nthem to a moment's suspicion of their ignorance.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFifty years and more have passed since this criticism was written; and,\nwith slight change of names for similar things, it still holds for\nthe popular estimate put upon metaphysics by too many scholars of our\ntime. If Coleridge, Schelling, Hegel, and the rest, are still held in\ndisregard by persons in chairs of philosophy, we may infer the kind of\nculture which the universities favor. What he also said of intellectual\nculture in his country and time, holds scarcely less true as regards\nours; and this in a republic, too, which in theory educates all its\ncitizens.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"I am greatly deceived if one preliminary to an efficient popular\neducation be not the recurrence to a more manly discipline of the\nintellect on the part of the learned themselves; in short, a thorough\nrecasting of the moulds in which the minds of our gentry, the\ncharacters of our future landowners, magistrates, and senators, are to\nreceive their shape and fashion. What treasures of practical wisdom\nwould be once more brought to open day by the solution of the problem.\nSuffice it for the present to hint the master thought.\n\n\"The first man on whom the light of an Idea dawned, did in that\nsame moment receive the spirit and credentials of a lawgiver. And\nas long as man shall exist, so long will the possession of that\nantecedent--the maker and master of all profitable experience, which\nexists in the power of an idea--be the one lawful qualification for\nall dominion in the world of the senses. Without this, experience\nitself is but a Cyclops walking backwards under the fascinations\nof the past; and we are indebted to a lucky coincidence of outward\ncircumstances and contingencies, least of all to be calculated on in\na time like the present, if this one-eyed experience does not seduce\nits worshippers into practical anachronisms. But, alas! the halls of\nthe old philosophers have been so long deserted, that we circle them at\nshy distance, as the haunt of phantoms and chimeras. The sacred grave\nof Academus is held in like regard with the unfruitful trees in the\nshadowy world of Maro, that had a dream attached to every leaf. The\nvery terms of ancient wisdom are worn out; or, far worse, stamped as\nbaser metal; and whoever should have the hardihood to re-proclaim its\nsolemn truths, must commence with a glossary.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe Dialectic, or Method of the Mind, constitutes the basis of all\nculture. Without a thorough discipline in this, our schools and\nuniversities give but a showy and superficial training. The knowledge\nof mind is the beginning of all knowledge; without this a theology is\nbaseless, the knowledge of God impossible. Modern education has not\ndealt with these deeper questions of life and being. It has the future\nin which to prove its power of conducting a Cultus, answering to the\ndiscipline of the Greek thinkers, Pythagoras, Plato, Aristotle.\n\nAs yet we deal with mind with far less certainty than with matter; the\nrealm of intellect having been less explored than the world of the\nsenses, and both are treated conjecturally rather than absolutely. When\nwe come to perceive that Intuition is the primary postulate of all\nintelligence, most questions now perplexing and obscure will become\ntransparent; the lower imperfect methods then take rank where they\nbelong and are available. The soul leads the senses; the reason the\nunderstanding; imagination the memory; instinct and intuition include\nand prompt the Personality entire.\n\nThe categories of imagination are the poet's tools; those of the\nreason, the implements of the naturalist. The dialectic philosopher is\nmaster of both. The tools to those only who can handle them skilfully.\nAll others but gash themselves and their subject, at best. Ask not a\nman of understanding to solve a problem in metaphysics. He has neither\nwit, weights, nor scales for the task. But a man of reason or of\nimagination solves readily the problems of understanding the moment\nthese are fairly stated. Ideas are solvents of all mysteries, whether\nin matter or mind.\n\n                'Tis clear\n                Mind's sphere\n                Is not here;\n                The Ideal guest\n                In ceaseless quest\n                Pursues the Best:\n                The very Better\n                The while her fetter,\n                Her desire\n                Higher, still higher;\n                Ever is fleeing\n                Past Seeming to Being;\n    Nor doth the sight content itself with seeing,\n    As forms emerge they fast from sense are fleeing,\n    Things but appear to vanish into Being.\n\nSo the Greeks represented thought in their winged god, Hermes, as the\nfather of speech and messenger of intelligence; they conceiving the\nvisible world as a globe of forms, whereby objects of thought were\npictured to sense, and held forth to fancy,--a geometry of ideas, a\nrhetoric of images.\n\nSallying forth into nature, the mind clothes its ideas in fitting\nimages, and thus reflects itself upon the understanding. Things are\nsymbols of thoughts, and nature the mind's dictionary.\n\n    Mind omnipresent is,\n    All round about us lies,\n    To fashion forth itself\n    In thought and ecstacy,\n    In fancy and surprise,\n    Things with ideas fraught,\n    And nature our dissolving thought.\n\n\n\n\nGOETHE.\n\n\n  WEDNESDAY, 23.\n\n                    \"As good\n    Not write as not be understood.\"\n\nYet the deepest truths are best read between the lines, and, for the\nmost part, refuse to be written. Who tells all tells falsely. There are\nuntold subtleties in things seen as unseen. Only the idealist touches\nthe core of their secret tenderly, and extracts the mystery; Nature,\nlike the coy Isis, disclosing these to none else. Most edifying is the\nauthor who suggests, and leaves to his reader the pleasure and profit\nof following his thought into its various relations with the whole\nof things, thus stimulating him to explore matters to their issues.\nThe great masters have observed this fine law, and of modern scholars\nespecially Goethe.\n\nFor whether considered as poet or naturalist, he is our finest example\nof the reverent faith in nature and tenderness of treatment that\nbecomes her student and devotees. And hence the rich spoils and prime\nsuggestions with which he charms and rewards in his books. Wooed\nin this spirit, nature vouchsafed him the privilege of reading her\nsecrets. An eye-witness of the facts, he had the magic pen to portray\nthem as they rose midway between matter and mind, there caught them\nlovingly and held them forth in intertwisted myths and gay marriages to\nthe sense and sentiment of his reader. Writing faithfully to the form\nof things, he yet had a finer moral than these could deliver; the vein\nof quiet mysticism in which he delighted, giving a graceful charm to\nthe writing. How finely his senses symbolized his thought, and his eye\nhow Olympian! What subtle perception of the contraries in character!\nHe has treated the strife of the Worst for the Best, the problem of\nevil, more cunningly than any; than Moses; than the author of Job of\nUz; than Milton, the Puritan, fitted as he was alike by birth and\nculture to deal with this world fable,--his faith in nature being so\nentire, his rare gifts at instant command for rendering perfect copies\nof what he saw, and loved to represent in its truthfulness to sense\nand soul alike. A seer of Spirit, the draughtsman of guile; to him sat\nthe demons gladly, and he sketched their likenesses,--portraits of the\ndualities he knew so well; the same with which most are too familiar;\nthe drama of the temptation being coeval with man, the catastrophe thus\nfar repeated disastrously, the striving of the Many against the One,\nthe world-spirit bribing the will, proffering the present delights\nfor the future pains. Ah! could he but have found himself in the One,\nwhom, with such surpassing skill he individualized, but failed to\nimpersonate. His aloofness from life, his residence in the Many, his\ninability to identify himself with the whole of things,--this duplicity\nof genius denied him free admittance to unity. Cunning he was, not wise\nin the simplicity of wisdom. As the Fates conceived, so they slew him,\nyet by subtleties so siren, as to persuade him of an immortality not\ntheirs to bestow. All he was, his Faust celebrates--admitted to heaven,\nas Goethe to glory, without the fee that opens honestly its gates.\n\nOh, artist of beauty! Couldst thou but have been equal to portray the\nSpirit of spirits as cunningly as of Matter! But it was the temper of\nthat age of transition, and thou wast its priest and poet.\n\nBut whatever his deficiencies, he has been one of the world's teachers,\nand is to be for some time to come. The spirit and movement of an age\nare embodied in his books, and one reads with a growing reverence at\nevery perusal of the mind that saw and has portrayed the world-spirit\nso well. If not the man complete that in our admiration of his genius\nwe could desire, he yet was faithful to the law of his pen, and\ntherewith justifies his existence to mankind. Nor do I find any of his\ncontemporaries who made as much of this human life during his century.\n\"Light, more light!\" With this request he passed behind the clouds into\nthe fullest radiance.\n\n\nCARLYLE.\n\nThe ancients accepted in good faith the sway of Fate, or Temperament,\nin their doctrine of Destinies, hereby signifying that duplicity or\npolarity of forces operative in man's Will by which his personal\nfreedom is abridged, if not overridden. Nor does it appear that they\nconceived deliverance possible from this dread Nemesis of existence; it\nwas wrought into the substance of their tragedies, binding matter and\nmind alike in chains. If the modern thought professes to be freed from\nthis Old Fatalism, it practically admits it, nevertheless; man's will\nbeing still bound in fetters by inexorable powers, which his Choice\ncan neither propitiate nor overcome. If Goethe treats the matter more\nforcibly, sharply, his dealing differs but in form from the Pagan; man\nis the spoil of the demons still. Satan is suppressed for the moment to\nbe victorious in the end. Carlyle only renders it the more inexorable\nand dismaying by all his wealth of thought, force of illustration, his\nformidable historical figures, dramatic genius. It is force pitted\nagainst force that he celebrates throughout his embattled pages; a\nvictim himself with his heroes, yet like them never the victor; all\nirritants, but not quellers of the demon; fixed forces in transition\ntimes.\n\nOnly seen from this, his habitual standpoint and outlook, is he\njustified as the consistent realist, holding fast his faith in the\nactual facts of the world, their rigorous following to the remotest\nissues,--the most heroic of thinkers. What if, with these dread\nconvictions and insights of his, he paint out of all keeping with\nthe actual facts; he is following logically his persuasions of the\ndestinies that sway human concerns, abating not an iota of the letter\nof the text of the dread decalogue, whether for the wicked or the weak;\ndefending his view of the right at all costs whatsoever. Justice first,\nmercy afterwards. His books opened anywhere show him berating the wrong\nhe sees, but seldom the means of removing. There is ever the same\nmelancholy advocacy of work to be done under the dread master: force of\nstrokes, the right to rule and be ruled, the dismal burden. He rides\nhis Leviathan as fiercely as did his countryman, Hobbes; can be as\ntruculent and abusive. Were he not thus fatally in earnest, we should\ntake him for the harlequin he often seems, not seeing the sorrowing\nsadness thus playing off its load in this grotesque mirth, this\nscornful irony of his; he painting in spite of himself his portraits in\nthe warmth of admiration, the blaze of wrath, giving us mythology for\nhistory mostly.\n\nYet with what breadth of perspective he paints these! strength of\noutline, the realism appalling, the egotism enormous,--all history\nshowing in the background of his one figure, Carlyle,--Burns, Goethe,\nRichter, Mirabeau, Luther, Cromwell, Frederick,--all dashed from his\nflashing pen,--heads of himself alike in their unlikeness, prodigiously\nindividual, wilful, some of them monstrous; all Englishmen, too, with\ntheir egregious prejudices, prides; no patience, no repose in any. He\nbrandishes his truncheon through his pages with an adroitness that\nrenders it unsafe for any, save the few wielding weapons of celestial\ntemper, to do battle against Abaddon.\n\nNor will he be silenced; talking terribly against all talking but his\nown; agreeing, disagreeing, all the same, he the Jove permitting none,\nnone, to mount Olympus till the god deign silence and invite. Curious\nto see him monologizing, his chin aloft, the pent thunders rolling,\nlightnings darting from under his bold brows, words that tell of the\nwail within, accents not meant for music, yet made lyrical in the\ncadences of his Caledonian refrain, his mirth mad as Lear's, his humor\nwilful as the winds. Not himself then is approachable by himself even.\n\nA lovable man, nevertheless, with a great heart in his breast,\nsympathies the kindliest, deepest, nor indifferent to the ills the\nflesh is heir to. Why, oh ye powers, this wretchedness amidst the means\nsuperabounding for relieving and preventing it? Why this taking up\nreform forever from the beggar and felon side, as if these were sole\ncredentials to sympathy, essential elements of the social state? Rather\nlet force, persistent yet beneficent, be brought to bear upon mankind,\ngiving alike to prince and people the dutiful drill that alone equips\nfor the tasks of life,--this were the State's duty, the province of\nrulers; a thing to set about at once with the vigor of righteousness\nthat justice demands for the rule of the world.\n\nThe way of Imperialism this, and playing Providence harshly. He\nmistakes in commending absolutism to republicans, especially in times\nlike ours. England, even, imperial as she is, is too intelligent and\nfree to accept it. America certainly cannot. If he would but believe in\nthe people, divide his faith in hero-worship with masses, also. But it\nis not easy for a Briton to comprehend properly republican institutions\nlike ours. Nothing short of success against large odds can convince him\nof the feasibility, the safety of a popular government.\n\n    \"Success, success; to thee, to thee,\n    As to a god, he bends the knee.\"\n\nNot one of his heroes would serve our turn. Frederick were perhaps a\nfit captain to dominate over a brute multitude; Cromwell might serve\nin a state of revolution, but must fail altogether at reconstruction.\nEven Milton, the republican, would hardly avail with republicans freed\nfrom the old British love of sway.\n\nIt is not safe for any to dwell long on Sinai, leaving the multitudes\nmeanwhile to their idolatries below. In rigors thus austere the\nhumanities perish. Justice and mercy must alike conspire in the\nfulfilment of the decalogue, lest vengeance break the tables and\nshatter the divine image also.\n\n\"When heaven would save a man, it encircles him with compassion.\"\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nJULY.\n\n    \"O tenderly the haughty day\n      Fills his blue urn with fire;\n    One morn is in the mighty heaven,\n      And one in our desire.\"\n      --_Emerson._\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nINDEPENDENCE DAY.\n\n\n  SUNDAY, 4.\n\nAnd the republic now begins to look sweet and beautiful again, as\nif men and patriotic citizens might walk upright without shame or\napologies of any sort. Having managed for a century or more to keep the\nblack man under foot, provoked a war to this end, and, in our straits,\navailed of his life to spare ours, let us cherish the faith that we\nare bent honestly now on securing him the rights which his courage and\nloyalty have won for him and his while the republic stands. Was this\nslaughter of men and expenditure of treasure, with the possible woes to\ncome, necessary to make us just? And shall we not be careful hereafter\nthat political parties play not false as before the war; the cry for\nunion and reconstruction but a specious phrase for reinstating the old\nissues under new names? Admitted into the Union, the once rebellious\nStates may break out into new atrocities for recovering their fallen\nfortunes. It behooves the friends of freedom and human rights to know\ntheir friends, and trust those, and only those, who have proved\nthemselves faithful in the dire struggle,--\n\n    \"Who faithful in insane sedition keep,\n    With silver and with ruddy gold may vie.\"\n\nIn democratic times like ours, when Power is stealing the world over\nfrom the few to the many, and with an impetus unprecedented in the\nworld's history, the rightful depositories of Power, the People,\nshould make sure that their representatives are fitted alike and\ndisposed to administer affairs honorably; the rule being that of the\nBest by the Best,--an aristocracy in essence as in name; since no\ncalamity can befall a people like the want of good heads to give it\nstability and self-respect in its own, or consideration in the eyes of\nforeign beholders. Ideas are the royal Presidents; States and peoples\nintelligent and prosperous as they are loyal to these Potentates.\nLiberty is the highest of trusts committed to man by his Creator, and\nin the enjoyment of which man becomes himself a creator,--a trust at\nonce the most sacred and most difficult to hold inviolate. \"Power is\na fillet that presses so hard the temples that few can take it up\nsafely.\" Right is the royal ruler alone, and he who rules with least\nrestraint comes nearest to empire.\n\nAnd one of the most hopeful aspects of our national affairs is\nthe coming into importance and power of plain, sensible men, like\nGrant and Boutwell,--men owing their places to their honesty and\nuseful services,--the one in the field, the other in the state. Our\nvillage, also, is honored by the elevation of one of its distinguished\ncitizens for his eminent legal attainments and personal integrity.\nThis change for the better in our politics, it seems, came in with\nPresident Lincoln, himself the plainest of the plain, one of the\nmost American of American men; is (after his successor's lamentable\ncareer) now reinstated in our present chief magistrate, whose\npopularity is scarcely secondary to any of his predecessors in the\nPresidential Chair. Our national politics have obviously improved in\nthese respects upon later administrations, and we may reasonably hope\nfor the prevalence of peace and prosperity, such as the country has\nnot enjoyed since the times of Washington and Franklin. The reign of\nprinciple appears to have returned into the administration of affairs,\nhonorable men taking the lead, softening, in large measure, the\nasperities and feuds of parties. Great questions affecting the welfare\nof the community, and for the solution of which the ablest heads are\nrequisite, are coming into discussion, and are to be settled for the\nbenefit, we trust, of all concerned. Reform in capital and labor,\ntemperance, woman's social and political condition, popular education,\npowers of corporations, international communication,--these and the new\nissues which their settlement will effect, must interest and occupy\nthe active forces of the country to plant the republic, upon stable\nfoundations.\n\n\"An early, good education,\" says Gray, in his notes on Plato's\nRepublic, \"is the best means of turning the eyes of the mind from the\ndarkness and uncertainty of popular opinion, to the clear light of\ntruth. It is the interest of the public neither to suffer unlettered\nand unphilosophical minds to meddle with government, nor to allow\nmen of knowledge to give themselves up for the whole of life to\ncontemplation; as the first will lack principle to guide them, and\nothers want practice and inclination to business.\" One might also\ncommend to senators and representatives this sentence from Tacitus: \"I\nspeak,\" he says, \"of popular eloquence, the genuine offspring of that\nlicentiousness to which fools and designing men have given the name of\nliberty. I speak of that bold and turbulent oratory, that inflamer of\nthe people, and constant companion of sedition, that fierce incendiary\nthat knows no compliance, and scorns to temporize,--busy, rash, and\narrogant, but, in quiet and well-regulated governments, utterly\nunknown.\" Yet I cannot say that I should have written, with my present\nnotion of political or religious obligation, what follows: \"Upon the\nwhole, since no man can enjoy a state of calm tranquillity, and, at the\nsame time, raise a great and splendid reputation; to be content with\nthe benefits of the age in which we live, without detracting from our\nancestors, is the virtue that best becomes us.\" The sentiment has a\npatriotic sound, but conceals the cardinal truth, dear to a patriot,\ncertainly in our times and republic, that a calm tranquillity is hardly\ncompatible with a life of heroic action, and that true progress, so\nfar from detracting from the glory of our ancestors, carries forward\nthat for which they battled and bled, to clothe them and their\ndescendants with a fresher and more enduring fame. Not in imitation of\nsuch inflamers of the people, but in the spirit of liberty and loyalty,\nhave Sumner and Phillips won great and splendid reputations, if not\nsilenced the fools and designing men whose bold and turbulent oratory,\nthe genuine offspring of licentiousness, once sounded in our national\nhalls, and came near the separation of our Union.\n\n    Whom did the people trust?\n    Not those, the false confederates of State,\n    Who laid their country's fortunes desolate;\n    Plucked her fair ensigns down to seal the black man's fate;\n    Not these secured their trust.\n\n    But they, the generous and the just,\n    Who, nobly free and truly great,\n    Served steadfast still the servant race\n    As masters in the menial's place;\n    By their dark brothers strove to stand\n    Till owners these of mind and hand,\n    And freedom's banners waved o'er an enfranchised land.\n\n    These were the nation's trust,--\n    The patriots brave and just.\n\n\nPHILLIPS.\n\n    \"Some men such rare parts have that they can swim\n    If favor nor occasion help not them.\"\n\nPhillips stands conspicuous above most of his time, as the advocate\nof human rights, the defender of the oppressed. By happy fortune, he\nenjoys the privilege denied to senators, of speaking unencumbered by\nconvention or caucus. His speeches have the highest qualities of an\norator. In range of thought, clearness of statement, keen satire,\nbrilliant wit, personal anecdote, wholesome moral sentiment, the\nPuritan spirit, they are unmatched by any of the great orators of his\ntime. They have, besides, the rare merit, and one in which our public\nmen have been painfully deficient, of straightforwardness and truth\nto the hour. They are addressed to the conscience of the country, are\nspoken in the interest of humanity. Many a soldier in the field during\nthe late war, many a citizen owes his loyalty to hearing his eloquent\nwords.\n\nAbove party, unless it be the honorable and ancient party of mankind,\nthey embody the temper and drift of the times. How many public men\nare here to survive in the pillory of his indignant invectives! The\nhistory of the last thirty years cannot be accurately written without\nhis facts and anecdotes. There is no great interest of philanthropy in\nwhich he has not been, and still is, active. His words are to be taken\nas those of an earnest mind intent on furthering the ends of justice,\ninterpreted not by their rhetoric, but strict adherence to principle.\nCertainly the country has at times hung in the balance of his argument;\ncabinets and councils hesitating to do or undo without some regard\nto his words, well knowing the better constituency which he better\nrepresents and speaks for,--the people, namely, whose breath can unmake\nas it has made.\n\nAn earnest, truthful man, he has not shared with other statesmen of his\ntime in their indifferency nor their despair; and if by some esteemed\na demagogue and disorganizer, such is not his estimate of the part\ntaken by him in the great issues of the past, political and social. The\nfriend of progress, he early threw himself into the conflict, addressed\nhimself to the issues as they rose, rose with them and rode the wave\nbravely; sometimes hastening, oftentimes provoking the crisis. What\nStates would not adventure upon as policy, he espoused as policy and\nhumanity both. Addressing himself from the first to the great middle\nclass, whose principles are less corrupted by party politics, in whom\nthe free destiny of peoples is lodged, he is gathering the elements of\npower and authority which, becoming formidable in ability if not in\nnumbers, must secure the country's confidence, and in due time have\npolitical dictation and rule.\n\nThen, of the new instrumentalities for agitation and reform, the\nfree Platform derives largely its popularity and efficiency from his\ngenius. Consider the freedom of speech it invites and maintains, free\nas the freest can make it, a stand whereon every one who will gains a\nhearing; every opinion its widest scope of entertainment,--the widest\nhospitality consistent with the decorum of debate. Hither comes any\none breathing a sentiment of progress, any daring to dissent against\ndissent, against progress itself. Here the sexes meet on fair terms.\nHere, as not elsewhere, is intimated, if not spoken fittingly, the\npopular spirit and tendency. Here come the most effective speakers\nby preference to address a free constituency, a constituency to be\ntheirs, if not already, their words leaping into type from their lips,\nto be spread forthwith to the four winds by the reporting press. 'Tis\na school of debate, for oratory, for thought, for practice; has the\nremarkable merit of freshness, originality; questions affecting the\npublic welfare being here anticipated, first deliberated upon by the\npeople themselves; systems of agitation organized and set on foot\nfor creating a wholesome popular sentiment; in short, for giving\ninspiration, a culture, to the country, which the universities cannot;\ntraining the reason and moral sense by direct dealing with principles\nand persons as occasion requires; a school from whence have graduated\nnot a few of our popular speakers,--the Orator himself, whose speeches\nfurnish passages for collegiate declamation, from which politicians\nplume their rhetoric to win a borrowed fame. Cato said, \"An orator was\na good man skilled in the art of speaking.\"\n\nMore than any lecturer, unless it be Emerson, he has made the lecture\na New-England, if not an American institution; is always heard with\nprofit and pleasure by the unprejudiced auditor,--any course in the\ncities and towns being thought incomplete without his. Nor is it\neasy to estimate the debt of the free States to his speeches before\nassociations, conventions, in pulpits, the humblest places where his\nwords could be secured. He has already taken his place beside Garrison,\nhas linked his name with the Liberator's, to be on men's lips while the\nword _slave_ has significance.\n\nIf there be any one to whom the country is more largely indebted than\nanother for eminent services in his day, it must be Garrison; unless\na doubt may arise in the minds of some, if the hero of Harper's Ferry\nbe not entitled to like honors, since to these illustrious men must be\nattributed the merit of having struck the most effective blows for the\noverthrow of slavery, the one inaugurating the era of emancipation, and\nthe other consummating it.\n\n    \"The just man's like a rock, that turns the wroth\n    Of all the raging waters into a froth.\"\n\nThe agitation and outside pressure which they were chiefly instrumental\nin furthering to its rightful issues, were the most powerful\nauxiliaries, if not the power itself, which emancipated the mind of\nthe country from its subserviency to the slave dominion. They were\nthe creators of the sentiment that freed the negro at last from his\nbonds and cleared the way for a true Republican State. Some power\nsuperior to the Constitution was required to revise it, and free\nthe whole people from this Arachne's coil that had bound them so\nlong; was especially needed to extricate the rulers themselves from\nits meshes, and to rescue the rights thus imperilled by unscrupulous\nplacemen who shrunk from the task. These could not help them, caught\nin the same snare that bound the nation. \"Neither the law, nor the\nConstitution, nor the whole system of American institutions,\" they\nwere told, \"ever had contemplated a case as likely to arise under our\nsystem in which a resort would be necessary to provide outside of the\nlaw and Constitution for amending the Constitution.\" The case arose,\nnevertheless, and was provided for by these powerful agitators, and by\nthe progress of events. The late civil outbreak compelled the necessary\namendments, sweeping the compromises, the slave Congress and territory\nfrom the statute books and the country itself.\n\n    \"Principles like fountains flow round forever,\n    Being in a state of perpetual agitation.\"\n\n\"To all new truths, all renovations of old truths,\" says\nColeridge, \"it must be as in the ark between the destroyed and the\nabout-to-be-renovated world. The raven must be sent out before the\ndove, and ominous controversy must precede peace and the olive wreath.\"\n\n\nGREELEY.\n\nOf political editors, next to Garrison, perhaps Horace Greeley was the\nmost efficient in furthering this national result; and by his eminent\nservices in various departments of activity comes nearest to being\nthe people's man, the best representative of character indigenous to\nNew England, or more properly America--like Beecher and Phillips. His\npower appears to lie in his strong understanding, abundant information,\nplain statement of his facts, freed from all rhetorical embellishment.\nA rustic Franklin in his direct way of putting his things before his\nauditor, he makes plain his meaning in spite of his utter want of all\ngraces of person, or of oratory, handling his subject as a rude farmer\nhis axe and crowbar. There is about him a homely charm of good-nature,\na child-like candor, that have all the effect of eloquence, elevating\nhim for the time into the subject he treats. In the statistics of\nthings, practical and political, he is a kind of living encyclopedia\nof information, and as his chief distinction has made the newspaper a\npower it had not been before.\n\nMay we not credit New England with giving the country these new\nInstrumentalities for Progress, viz.:--\n\n    Greeley, the Newspaper;\n    Garrison, a free Platform;\n    Phillips, a free Convention;\n    Beecher, a free Pulpit;\n    Emerson, the Lecture?\n\nThe Conversation awaits being added to the list.\n\n\n\n\nAGE OF IRON AND BRONZE.\n\n\n  FRIDAY, 9.\n\nOurs can hardly claim to be the Golden Age, but of Bronze and Iron\nrather. If ideas are in the ascendant, still mind is fettered by\nmechanism. We scale the heavens to grade the spaces. Messrs. Capital &\nCo. transact our business for us the globe over. Was it in the Empire\nNews that I read the company's advertisement for supplying mankind\nwith gas at a penny _per diem_ annually? And then, proceeding to say,\n\"that considering the old-time monopoly in the heavenly luminary, the\ncorporation has constructed at fabulous cost their Brazen Cope to shut\ndown upon the horizon at day-break punctually, and so graduate to each\ncustomer's tube his just allowance, else darkness for delinquents the\nyear round.\"\n\nCertainly a splendid conception for distributing sunbeams by the Globe\nCorporation if the solar partner consent to the speculation. Had Hesiod\nthe enterprise in mind when he sung,--\n\n    \"Seek virtue first, and after virtue, coin\"?\n\nOr St. Paul, when writing concerning labor and capital: \"For I would\nnot,\" he says, \"that other men should be eased and you burdened, but\nby an equality that now at the time your abundance may be a supply for\ntheir want, that their abundance may also be a supply for your want,\nthat there may be an equality, as it is written, He that had gathered\nmuch, had nothing over, and he that had gathered little, had no lack.\nIf any man will not work, neither should he eat.\"\n\nAny attempt to simplify and supply one's wants by abstinence and\nself-help is in the most hopeful direction, and serviceable to the\nindividual whether his experiment succeed or not, the practice of most,\nfrom the beginning, having been to multiply rather than diminish one's\nnatural wants, and thus to become poor at the cost of becoming rich.\n\"Who has the fewest wants,\" said Socrates, \"is most like God.\"\n\n    \"Who wishes, wants, and whoso wants is poor.\"\n\nOur \"Fruitlands\" was an adventure undertaken in good faith for planting\na Family Order here in New England, in hopes of enjoying a pastoral\nlife with a few devoted men and women, smitten with sentiments of the\nold heroism and love of holiness and of humanity. But none of us were\nprepared to actualize practically the ideal life of which we dreamed.\nSo we fell apart, some returning to the established ways, some soured\nby the trial, others postponing the fulfilment of his dream to a more\npropitious future.[11]\n\n[Footnote 11: \"FRUITLANDS.\n\n\"We have received a communication from Messrs. Alcott and Lane, dated\nfrom their farm, _Fruitlands_, in Harvard, Massachusetts, from which we\nmake the following extract:--\n\n\"'We have made an arrangement with the proprietor of an estate of about\na hundred acres, which liberates this tract from human ownership. For\npicturesque beauty, both in the near and the distant landscape, the\nspot has few rivals. A semicircle of undulating hills stretches from\nsouth to west, among which the Wachusett and Monadnock are conspicuous.\nThe vale, through which flows a tributary to the Nashua, is esteemed\nfor its fertility and ease of cultivation, is adorned with groves of\nnut trees, maples, and pines, and watered by small streams. Distant not\nthirty miles from the metropolis of New England, this reserve lies in a\nserene and sequestered dell. No public thoroughfare invades it, but it\nis entered by a private road. The nearest hamlet is that of Stillriver,\na field's walk of twenty minutes, and the village of Harvard is reached\nby circuitous and hilly roads of nearly three miles.\n\n\"'Here we prosecute our effort to initiate a Family in harmony with the\nprimitive instincts in man. The present buildings being ill placed and\nunsightly as well as inconvenient, are to be temporarily used, until\nsuitable and tasteful buildings in harmony with the natural scene can\nbe completed. An excellent site offers itself on the skirts of the\nnearest wood, affording shade and shelter, and commanding a view of the\nlands of the estate, nearly all of which are capable of spade culture.\nIt is intended to adorn the pastures with orchards, and to supersede\nultimately the labor of the plough and cattle, by the spade and the\npruning-knife.\n\n\"'Our planting and other works, both without and within doors, are\nalready in active progress. The present Family numbers ten individuals,\nfive being children of the founders. Ordinary secular farming is\nnot our object. Fruit, grain, pulse, garden plants and herbs, flax\nand other vegetable products for food, raiment, and domestic uses,\nreceiving assiduous attention, afford at once ample manual occupation,\nand chaste supplies for the bodily needs. Consecrated to human freedom,\nthe land awaits the sober culture of devout men.\n\n\"'Beginning with small pecuniary means, this enterprise must be rooted\nin a reliance on the succors of an ever-bounteous Providence, whose\nvital affinities being secured by this union with uncorrupted fields\nand unworldly persons, the cares and injuries of a life of gain are\navoided.\n\n\"'The inner nature of every member of the Family is at no time\nneglected. A constant leaning on the living spirit within the soul\nshould consecrate every talent to holy uses, cherishing the widest\ncharities. The choice Library (of which a partial catalogue was given\nin Dial No. XII) is accessible to all who are desirous of perusing\nthese records of piety and wisdom. Our plan contemplates all such\ndisciplines, cultures, and habits as evidently conduce to the purifying\nand edifying of the inmates. Pledged to the Spirit alone, the founders\ncan anticipate no hasty or numerous accession to their numbers. The\nkingdom of peace is entered only through the gates of self-denial and\nabandonment; and blessedness is the test and the reward of obedience to\nthe unswerving law of Love.--_The Dial._\n\n\"'JUNE 10, 1843.'\"]\n\nI certainly esteem it an inestimable privilege to have been bred to\noutdoor labors, the use of tools, and to find myself the owner of a\ngarden, with the advantage of laboring sometimes besides my faithful\nIrishman, and compare views of men and things with him. I think myself\nthe greater gainer of the two by this intercourse. Unbiassed by books,\nand looking at things as they stand related to his senses and simple\nneeds, I learn naturally what otherwise I should not have known so\nwell, if at all. The sympathy and sincerity are the best part of it.\nOne sees the more clearly his social relations and duties; sees the\nneed of beneficent reforms in the economics of labor and capital by\nwhich the working classes shall have their just claims allowed, the\nproducts of hand and brain be more equitably distributed, a finer\nsympathy and wiser humanity prevail in the disposition of affairs. No\ntrue man can be indifferent to that great productive multitude, without\nwhose industry capitalists would have nothing in which to invest;\nthe callings and the professions lack bread and occupation alike.\nHead and hands best co-operate in this interplay of services. Every\ngift, besides enriching its owner, should enrich the whole community,\nopportunities be opened for the free exercise of all, the golden rule\nstand for something besides an idle text. Every one is entitled to a\ncompetence, provided he employs his gifts for the common good. It seems\nbut right that the gifted should return to the common treasury in the\nratio of their endowments; be taxed at a higher rate than those to whom\nlike advantages have been denied. Indeed, it is questionable whether\nthe man who is poor by no fault of his, should be taxed at all; give\nhim citizenship rather as an inborn right, as a man, not as a mere\nproducer. Men are loyal from other considerations than self-interest.\nOne would not check the spirit of accumulation, but the monopoly of the\ngift for the sole benefit of the oppressor. A competence, including\nevery comfort, and even harmless luxuries, is what all men need, all\ndesire, all might have, were there a fair distribution of the avails\nof labor, opportunities for labor of head or hand for all,--the right\nto be educated and virtuous included, as the most important. The poor\nman cannot compete, practically, successfully, with the rich man, the\nlaborer with the capitalist, the ignorant with the instructed,--all are\nplaced at unequal odds, the victims of circumstances which they did not\ncreate, and which those who do may use to their injury if they choose.\nThe laborer is broken on the wheel his necessities compel him to drive,\nfeeling the while the wrong done him by those whom he has enriched by\nhis toil.\n\nNo tradition assigns a beginning to justice, but only to injustice.\nBefore the Silver, the Brazen, the Iron, comes the Golden Age, when\nvirtue is current, and man at his highest value. It is when man is\ndegraded that virtue and justice are dishonored, and labor deemed\ndisreputable.\n\nPoverty may be the philosopher's ornament. Too rich to need, and\nself-respecting to receive benefits, save upon terms which render the\nreceiver the nobler giver, he revenges upon fortune by possessing a\nkingdom superior to mischance and incumbrance.\n\n    The gold alone but gold can buy,\n    Wisdom's the sterling currency.\n\n\n\n\nCONVERSATION ON ENTHUSIASM.[12]\n\n[Footnote 12: Printed from notes taken by a lady (Miss Ariana Walker)\nat the time. The conversation was held in Boston in December, 1849.]\n\n\n  WEDNESDAY, 14.\n\nMr. Alcott began the conversation by referring to that of Monday\nbefore, on the subject of Temperament and Complexion, and added other\nfine thoughts about it.\n\nHe said, perhaps he had dwelt too much on the symbol of color, but\nconceived himself borne out in all he had said. \"The Greeks held that\na brown complexion betokened courage, and those who had fair skins\nwere called children of light and favorites of the gods. And the\ngods themselves were demonic or divine, as tempered by darkness or\nlight,--the gods Infernal, the Midgods, the Celestials. So Christian\nart has painted Satan dark, the Christ fair. And late experiments on\nthe sunbeam showed that dark substances imprison the rays,--these\nabsorbing more and delivering less. The more of sun, so much the more\nof soul; the less of sun, of passion more, and the strange fire.\" He\nfancied black eyes were of Oriental descent, were tinged less or more\nwith fairer hues in crossing West. People of sandy hair and florid\ncomplexions were of Northern ancestry. The fusion of the various races\nwas now taking place, blending all, doubtless, into a more harmonious\nand beautiful type.\n\nHe asked if there did not lurk in the fancy, if not in our atoms, a\npersuasion that complexion, like features, voice, gait, typified and\nemblazoned personal traits of their possessors, if the rhetoric of\nmorals and religion did not revel in like distinctions. \"Handsome is\nthat handsome does.\" Beauty was the birthright of all, if not their\ninheritance. It was shame that brought deformity into the world. Every\nchild accused, he knew not whom, for any blemish of his. \"Why not mine\nthe happy star, too?\" Still some trait was insinuated into the least\nfavored, and stamped upon the embryonic clay. Ebony, alabaster, indigo,\nvermilion, the pigments were all mingled as purity or passion decreed.\nTypes were persistent, family features standing strong for centuries\nand perpetuating themselves from generation to generation. Place the\nportraits of a long line of ancestors on the walls, one's features\nwere all there, with the slight variations arising from intermarriage,\ndegrees of culture, calling, climate.\n\n    \"Our faces were our coats of arms.\"\n\n\"Eyes were most characteristic. These played the prime parts in\nlife,--eyes and voice. Eyes were a civility and a kingdom: voice a\nfortune. There was a culture, a fate in them, direful, divine.\" And he\nquoted, without naming the author:--\n\n    \"Black eyes, in your dark orbs doth lie\n    My ill or happy destiny;\n    If with clear looks you me behold,\n    You give me wine and mounts of gold;\n    If you dart forth disdainful rays,\n    To your own dye you turn my days;\n    Black eyes, in your dark orbs doth dwell\n    My bane or bliss, my heaven or hell.\"\n\nThen added, significantly:--\n\n    Ask you _my_ preference, what their hue?\n    Surely the safe, celestial blue.\n\nHe said: \"Voice classified us. The harmonious voice tells of the\nharmonious soul. Millions of fiends are evoked in a breath by an\nirritated one. A gentle voice converts the Furies into Muses. The\nhighest saint is not he who strives the most violently, but he upon\nwhom goodness sits gracefully, whose strength is gentleness, duty\nloved, because spontaneous, and who wastes none of his power in effort;\nhis will being one and above temptation. True love says, 'Come to my\nembrace, you are safer with me than you were with yourself, since I am\nwise above knowledge, and tasting of the apple.' The sequel is bliss\nand peace. But after fascination comes sorrow, remorse. The touch of\nthe demonized soul is poison. Read Swedenborg's Hells, he added, and\nbeware of demonized eyes!\"\n\nI never saw any one who seemed to purify words as Mr. Alcott does; with\nhim nothing is common or unclean.\n\nHe then spoke of temperance in its widest sense, as being that which\ncontributed to health of the whole being, body and soul alike. He\nsaid, \"We should breakfast on sunrise and sup on sunset.\" And he read\npassages from Pythagoras, recommending music as a diet. \"Pythagoras\ncomposed melodies for the night and morning, to purify the brain. He\nforbade his disciples the using of flesh meats, or drinks which heated\nand disturbed the brain, or hindered the music of dreams.\"\n\nAt this point of the conversation, Miss Bremer and Mr. Benzon, the\nSwedish consul, came in, and there was a slight pause.\n\nMr. Alcott then resumed the subject, and read Emerson's Bacchus,\nto which he gave new significance. When he had finished, he said,\n\"This is the wine we want.\" He then spoke of the subject proposed\nfor the evening's conversation, which was Enthusiasm, defining it as\n\"an abandonment to the instincts. The seer,\" he said, \"was one in\nwhom memory predominated, and many of his visions were recollections\nrather of a former than revelations of a future state.\" This state of\nclairvoyance he named \"thought a-bed, or philosophy recumbent\"; and\nin this view he spoke of \"Swedenborg, who was an enthusiast in the\nlatter sense, and revealed remarkable things.\" He quoted a passage from\nSwedenborg's diary, wherein he speaks of his being created with the\npower of breathing inwardly, suspending his outward breathing, and in\nthis way conversed with angels and spirits.\n\nMiss Bremer asked Mr. Alcott \"if he called Swedenborg an enthusiast.\"\n\nMr. Alcott said, \"Swedenborg was in such fine relations with nature and\nspirit, that many things seemed revealed to him beyond the apprehension\nof ordinary men. He was a seer rather of supernatural than of spiritual\nthings; a preternaturalist, rather than spiritualist. He had wonderful\ninsights into nature, also, which science was almost every day\nconfirming.\"\n\n\"His followers claimed that he anticipated important discoveries, both\nin natural as in spiritual science, and that his merits were enhanced\nby his claim to supernatural illumination. And whatever his gifts,\nhow assisted, whether by agencies supernatural or preternatural,\ntheir operations were of wonderful sweep, his insights surpassing,\ntranscending the comprehension of any successor; of a kind that have\nled some to suspect that he staggered down under the weight of his\nendowments. Certainly, he stands, like Boehme, an exceptional mind, in\nthe order of nature, and awaits an interpreter to determine his place\nin the world of thought. He is the most eminent example furnished in\nmodern biography of the possibilities of the metempsychosis, as if\nwe saw in him an ability to translate himself at will, personally,\nwheresoever he would, taking his residence for the while in plant,\nanimal, mineral, atom, with the superadded faculty of ravishing its\nsecret. Nor content with this, he ransacks the primeval elements, the\nlimbos of chaos and night. What burglaries he perpetrates! picking of\nlocks, slitting of mysteries, opening rents into things sacred and\nprofane,--of these no end. Then such edifices rising from regions of\nvagary and shadow, a goblin world, grand, grotesque, seldom lighted\nfrom above, or tipped with azure. His heavens had no prospects; no\nperspective; his hells were lurid; the pit bottomless, a Stygian\nrealm throughout. His genius plunges, seldom soars; is not fledged,\nbut footed; his heaven but the cope of the abyss in plain sight of\nthe doomed. His angels are spectral, unwholesome; his celestials too\nknowing to be innocent.\n\n\"It were a fruitless task to follow him from starting-point to goal,\nif goal there be, in his restless racing throughout nature. The\nghost-seer of shadow-land, whereinto he smuggled all natural things\nas spiritual phantoms; he needs be studied with due drawback of\ndoubt, as to the veracity of his claim to divine illumination. Still\nwith every abatement, here is a body of truth none can gainsay nor\nresist; abysses not yet fathomed by any successor, naturalist, or\nspiritualist.\"\n\nAfter this surprising statement of his views of Swedenborg, Miss Bremer\nasked more questions about Mr. Alcott's definition of an Enthusiast,\nadding: \"Christ, then, if we speak of him as a man, was an enthusiast.\"\n\nMr. Alcott, smiling, said, \"Yes, the divinest of enthusiasts,\nsurrendering himself entirely to the instincts of the Spirit; might\nsafely do so, being holy, whole, inspired throughout all his gifts, his\nwhole Personality,--the divine fire pervaded every part; therefore he\nwas the celestial man.\"\n\nThe conversation here turned upon Nature, in some way which I do not\nnow recollect, and Mr. Alcott spoke of the great mission of the prophet\nof nature.\n\n    \"The public child of earth and sky.\"\n\n\"Nature,\" he said, \"was more to some persons than others; they standing\nin closer relations to it.\"\n\n\"But nature,\" said Miss Bremer, \"is not wholly good.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Mr. Alcott; \"there is something of Fate in her, too, as in\nsome persons. She, too, is a little bitten.\"\n\nThe expression seemed to amuse her, for she repeated it several times,\nlaughing.\n\nMr. Alcott then said, \"that nature was not wholly sane. It was given\nto the celestial man alone to take from it only what was salutary, as\nit was the Nemesis of the demonic man to take what was hurtful. Bees\ngathered honey from all flowers.\"\n\nJames Russell Lowell asked \"if bees did not sometimes secrete poisonous\nhoney?\"\n\nMr. Alcott said \"he believed they did, but only when wholesome flowers\nwere denied them.\"\n\nMiss Littlehale suggested that \"honey was not poisonous to the bees,\nbut to men only, and Mr. Lowell allowed that it was not.\"\n\nMiss Bremer now returned to the word Enthusiast. She said Mr. Alcott\nhad defined it well as \"divine intoxication.\"\n\nI do not follow the order of time in what follows, but record some\nscattered sayings of the conversation.\n\nMr. Alcott spoke of \"the celestial, or unfallen man, as not making\nchoice of good; he was chosen rather; elected, deliberation presupposed\na mixed will, a temptation and a lapse. Then, opening Plotinus, he read\nthis beautiful passage:--\n\n\"Every soul is a Venus. And this, the nativity of Venus, and Love\nwho was born at the same time with her, obscurely signify. The soul,\ntherefore, when in a condition conformable to nature, loves God,\nwishing to be united to him, being, as it were, the desire of a\nbeautiful virgin to be conjoined with a beautiful love. When, however,\nthe soul descends into generation, then being, as it were, deceived\nby spurious nuptials, and associating herself with another and mortal\nlove, she becomes petulant and insolent, through being absent from her\nfather. But when she again hates wantonness and injustice, and becomes\npurified from the defilements which are here, and again returns to\nher father, she is affected in the most felicitous manner. And those,\nindeed, who are ignorant of this affection, may from worldly love form\nsome conjecture of divine love, by considering how great a felicity the\npossession of a most beloved object is conceived to be; and also, by\nconsidering that those earthly objects of love are mortal and noxious;\nthat the love of them is nothing more than the love of images, and that\nthey lose their attractive power because they are not truly desirable,\nnor our real good, nor that which we investigate. In the ideal world,\nhowever, the object of love is to be found, with which we may be\nconjoined, which we may participate and truly possess, and which is not\nexternally enveloped with flesh. He, however, who knows this, well knew\nwhat I say, and will be convinced that the soul has another life.\"\n\nMiss Bremer seemed puzzled by this reading as questioning in her mind a\ndistinction between virtue and innocence, or holiness, which Mr. Alcott\nhad discriminated clearly.\n\nSome one inquired, \"How can we trust our instincts since these have\nbeen so differently educated?\"\n\nMr. Alcott said \"they had rather been overborne by the appetites and\npassions. It was the tragedy of life that these were obscured so soon,\nand the mind left in confusion. The child was more of an enthusiast\nthan the man ordinarily. And then so many were born old; even in the\nbabe one sometimes sees some ancient sinner. Youth is so attractive\nbecause still under the sway of instinct. The highest duty is musical\nand sings itself. Business, lusts, draw men downwards. Yet were life\nearnest and true to the instincts, it would be music and song. Life\nwas too much for most. No one was always an enthusiast. It was in the\ngolden moments that he was filled with the overflowing divinity. The\nblissful moments were those when one abandons himself to the Spirit,\nletting it do what it will with him. True, most persons were divided,\nthere were two or more of them,--a Deuce distracting them and they in\nconflict with evils, or devils. But what is the bad but lapse from the\ngood,--the good blindfolded?\"\n\n\"Ah! Mr. Alcott,\" said Miss Bremer, laughing, \"I am desperately afraid\nthere is a little bit of a devil, after all.\"\n\n\"One's foes are of his own household,\" said Mr. Alcott. \"If his house\nis haunted it is by himself only. Our Choices were our Saviours or\nSatans.\"\n\nSpeaking of the temperaments, Mr. Alcott discriminated these in their\ndifferent elements.\n\nThe celestial man was composed more largely of light and ether. The\ndemonic man combined more of fire and vapor. The animal man more of\nembers and dust.[13]\n\n[Footnote 13: THE TEMPERAMENTS AND COMPLEXIONS.\n\n    The Sanguine or Aeriform is Fair;\n    The Choleric or Fiery is Florid;\n    The Lymphatic or Aqueous is Olive;\n    The Melancholic or Earthy is Dark.\n\nThe four are mostly blended in life, the fusion being frequently\nindeterminable.]\n\nThe sacraments might be considered symbolically, as Baptism, or\npurification by water.\n\nFasting, or temperance in outward delights.\n\nContinence, or chastity in personal indulgences.\n\nPrayer, or aspiring aims.\n\nLabor, or prayer in act or pursuits.\n\nThese he considered the regimen of inspiration and thought.\n\nMr. Alcott closed the conversation by reading from the Paradise\nRegained a description of the banquet spread by Satan for Christ;\nalso, the lines in praise of Chastity, from the Comus, whose clear\nstatue-like beauty always affects one powerfully.\n\n\n\n\nHAWTHORNE.\n\n\n  MONDAY, 19.\n\nHawthorne was of the darker temperament and tendencies. His\nsensitiveness and sadness were native, and he cultivated them\napparently alike by solitude, the pursuits and studies in which\nhe indulged, till he became almost fated to know gayer hours only\nby stealth. By disposition friendly, he seemed the victim of his\ntemperament, as if he sought distance, if not his pen, to put himself\nin communication, and possible sympathy with others,--with his nearest\nfriends, even. His reserve and imprisonment were more distant and\nclose, while the desire for conversation was livelier, than any one I\nhave known. There was something of strangeness even in his cherished\nintimacies, as if he set himself afar from all and from himself with\nthe rest; the most diffident of men, as coy as a maiden, he could only\nbe won by some cunning artifice, his reserve was so habitual, his\nisolation so entire, the solitude so vast. How distant people were from\nhim, the world they lived in, how he came to know so much about them,\nby what stratagem he got into his own house or left it, was a marvel.\nFancy fixed, he was not to be jostled from himself for a moment, his\nmood was so persistent. There he was in the twilight, there he stayed.\nWas he some damsel imprisoned in that manly form pleading alway for\nrelease, sighing for the freedom and companionships denied her? Or was\nhe some Assyrian ill at ease afar from the olives and the East? Had he\nstrayed over with William the Conqueror, and true to his Norman nature,\nwas the baron still in republican America, secure in his castle, secure\nin his tower, whence he could defy all invasion of curious eyes? What\nneighbor of his ever caught him on the highway, or ventured to approach\nhis threshold?\n\n    \"His bolted Castle gates, what man should ope,\n        Unless the Lord did will\n        To prove his skill,\n    And tempt the fates hid in his horoscope?\"\n\nYet if by chance admitted, welcome in a voice that a woman might own\nfor its hesitancy and tenderness; his eyes telling the rest.\n\n    \"For such the noble language of his eye,\n    That when of words his lips were destitute,\n    Kind eyebeams spake while yet his tongue was mute.\"\n\nYour intrusion was worth the courage it cost; it emboldened to future\nassaults to carry this fort of bashfulness. During all the time he\nlived near me, our estates being separated only by a gate and shaded\navenue, I seldom caught sight of him; and when I did it was but to\nlose it the moment he suspected he was visible; oftenest seen on his\nhill-top screened behind the shrubbery and disappearing like a hare\ninto the bush when surprised. I remember of his being in my house\nbut twice, and then he was so ill at ease that he found excuse for\nleaving politely forthwith,--\"the stove was so hot,\" \"the clock ticked\nso loud.\" Yet he once complained to me of his wish to meet oftener,\nand dwelt on the delights of fellowship, regretting he had so little.\nI think he seldom dined from home; nor did he often entertain any\none,--once, an Englishman, when I was also his guest; but he preserved\nhis shrinking taciturnity, and left to us the conversation. Another\ntime I dined with a Southern guest at his table. The conversation\nturning on the war after dinner, he hid himself in the corner, as if a\ndistant spectator, and fearing there was danger even there. It was due\nto his guest to hear the human side of the question of slavery, since\nshe had heard only the best the South had to plead in its favor.\n\nI never deemed Hawthorne an advocate of Southern ideas and\ninstitutions. He professed democracy, not in the party, but large\nsense of equality. Perhaps he loved England too well to be quite just\nto his native land,--was more the Old Englishman than the New. He\nseemed to regret the transplanting, as if reluctant to fix his roots\nin our soil. His book on England, entitled \"Our Old Home,\" intimates\nhis filial affection for that and its institutions. If his themes were\nAmerican, his treatment of them was foreign, rather. He stood apart as\nhaving no stake in home affairs. While calling himself a democrat, he\nsympathized apparently with the absolutism of the old countries. He\nhad not full faith in the people; perhaps feared republicanism because\nit had. Of our literary men, he least sympathized with the North, and\nwas tremulously disturbed, I remember, at the time of the New-York\nmob. It is doubtful if he ever attended a political meeting or voted\non any occasion throughout the long struggle with slavery. He stood\naloof, hesitating to take a responsible part, true to his convictions,\ndoubtless, strictly honest, if not patriotic.\n\nHe strove by disposition to be sunny and genial, traits not native to\nhim. Constitutionally shy, recluse, melancholy, only by shafts of wit\nand flow of humor could he deliver himself. There was a soft sadness\nin his smile, a reserve in his glance, telling how isolate he was.\nWas he ever one of his company while in it? There was an aloofness, a\n_besides_, that refused to affiliate himself with himself, even. His\nreaders must feel this, while unable to account for it, perhaps, or\nexpress it adequately. A believer in transmitted traits needs but read\nhis pedigree to find the genesis of what characterized him distinctly,\nand made him and his writings their inevitable sequel. Everywhere\nyou will find persons of his type and complexion similar in cast of\ncharacter and opinions. His associates mostly confirm the observation.\n\n\nLANDOR.\n\nLandor's Biography, edited by James Forster, and lately published\nhere, well repays perusal. Landor seems to have been the victim of his\ntemperament all his life long. I know not when I have read a commentary\nso appalling on the fate that breaks a noble mind on the wheel of\nits passions, precipitating it into the dungeons but to brighten its\nlights. Of impetuous wing, his genius was yet sure of its boldest\nflights, and to him, if any modern, may be applied Coleridge's epithet\nof \"myriad mindedness,\" so salient, varied, so daring the sweep of his\nthought. More than any he reminds of Shakespeare in dramatic power; of\nPlato, in his mastery of dialogue; in epic force, of \u00c6schylus. He seems\nto have been one of the demigods, cast down, out of place, out of his\ntime, restless ever, and indignant at his destiny,--\n\n    \"Heaven's exile straying from the orb of light.\"\n\nHis stormful, wayward career exemplifies in a remarkable manner the\nrecoiling Fate pervading human affairs.\n\n\"A sharp dogmatic man,\" says Emerson, who met him when abroad, \"with\na great deal of knowledge, a great deal of worth and a great deal of\npride, with a profound contempt for all that he does not understand,\na master of elegant learning and capable of the utmost delicacy of\nsentiment, and yet prone to indulge a sort of ostentation of coarse\nimagery and language. He has capital enough to have furnished the\nbrain of fifty stock authors, yet has written no good book. In these\nbusy days of avarice and ambition, when there is so little disposition\nto profound thought, or to any but the most superficial intellectual\nentertainments, a faithful scholar, receiving from past ages the\ntreasures of wit, and enlarging them by his own lore, is a friend and\nconsoler of mankind. Whoever writes for the love of mirth and beauty,\nand not with ulterior ends, belongs to this sacred class, and among\nthese, few men of the present age have a better claim to be numbered\nthan Mr. Landor. Wherever genius and taste have existed, wherever\nfreedom and justice are threatened (which he values as the element in\nwhich genius may work), his interest is here to be commanded. Nay,\nwhen we remember his rich and ample page, wherein we are always sure\nto find free and sustained thought, a keen and precise understanding,\nan affluent and ready memory familiar with all chosen books, an\nindustrious observation in every department of life, an experience to\nwhich nothing has occurred in vain, honor for every just sentiment, and\na scourge like that of the Furies for every oppressor, whether public\nor private, we feel how dignified is this perpetual censor in his\ncerule chair, and we wish to thank a benefactor of the reading world.\"\n\nNo writer of our time in the difficult species of composition, the\ndialogue, has attained a success upon so high a plane as Landor\nin his Conversations, wherein he has treated almost every human\ninterest, brought his characters together, like Plato's interlocutors,\nfrom different ages and of differing opinions, using these as\nrepresentatives of the world's best literature. And besides these his\nmasterpieces, his verses have the chaste and exquisite quality of the\nbest Greek poetry.\n\n\"His dialogues number,\" says his biographer, \"not fewer than a hundred\nand fifty. Different as these were in themselves, it was not the\nless the distinguishing mark of their genius to be, both in their\nconformation and in their mass, almost strangely alike; and it is\nthis unity in their astonishing variety, the fire of an inexpressible\ngenius running through the whole, that gives to his books containing\nthem their place among the books not likely to pass away; there is\nscarcely a form or function of the human mind, sincere or sprightly,\ncogitative or imaginative, historical, fanciful, or real, which has not\nbeen exercised or brought into play in this extraordinary series of\nwritings. The world, past and present, is reproduced in them, with its\nvariety and uniformity, its continuity and change.\"\n\nWhat Landor says of written dialogue, holds in still wider latitude,\neven, in conversation.\n\n\"When a man writes a dialogue, he has it all to himself, the pro and\nthe con, the argument and the reply. Within the shortest given space\nof time, he may indulge in every possible variety of mood. He may\ncontradict himself every minute. In the same page, without any sort of\nviolence, the most different shades of sentiment may find expression.\nExtravagance of statement, which in other forms could not be admitted,\nmay be fully put forth. Dogmas of every description may be dealt in,\naudaciously propounded, or passionately opposed, with a result all the\nlivelier in proportion to the mere vehemence expended on them. In no\nother style of composition is a writer so free from ordinary restraints\nupon opinion, or so absolved from self-control. Better far than any\nother, it adapts itself to eagerness and impatience. Dispensing with\npreliminaries, the jump _in medias res_ may at once be taken safely.\nThat one thing should be unexpectedly laid aside, and another as\ncapriciously taken up, is quite natural to it; the subjects being\nfew that may not permissively branch off into all the kindred topics\nconnected with them, when the formalities held ordinarily necessary in\nthe higher order of prose composition have disappeared in the freedom\nof conversation.\"\n\n\n\n\nSLEEP AND DREAMS.\n\n\n  THURSDAY, 22.\n\n    \"When sleep hath closed our eyes the mind sees well,\n    For Fate by daylight is invisible.\"\n\nThings admirable for the admirable hours. The morning for thought,\nthe afternoon for recreation, the evening for company, the night for\nrest. Having drank of immortality all night, the genius enters eagerly\nupon the day's task, impatient of any impertinences jogging the full\nglass. The best comes when we are at our best; and who so buoyant\nas to be always rider of the wave? Sleep, and see; wake, and report\nthe nocturnal spectacle. Sleep, like travel, enriches, refreshes,\nby varying the day's perspective, showing us the night side of the\nglobe we traverse day by day. We make transits too swift for our\nwakeful senses to follow; pass from solar to lunar consciousness in\na twinkling, lapse from forehead and face to occupy our lower parts,\nand recover, as far as permitted, the keys of genesis and of the\nforeworlds. \"All truth,\" says Porphyry, \"is latent; but this the soul\nsometimes beholds when she is a little liberated by sleep from the\nemployments of the body. And sometimes she extends her sight, but never\nperfectly reaches the objects of her vision. Hence, when she beholds,\nshe does not see it with a free and direct light, but through an\nintervening veil, which the folds of darkening nature draw over her\neye. This veil, when in sleep it admits the light to extend as far as\ntruth, is said to be of horn, whose nature is such, from its tenuity,\nthat it is pervious to the light. But when it dulls the sight and\nrepels its vision of truth, it is said to be of ivory, which is a body\nso naturally dense, that, however thin it may be scraped, it cannot be\npenetrated by the visual rays.\"\n\nHomer says,--\n\n    \"Our dreams descend from Jove.\"\n\nThat is, from the seat of intellect, and declare their import when our\nwill sleeps. Then are they of weighty and reliable import, yet require\nthe like suppression of our will to make plain their significance.\nOnly so is the oracle made reliable. The good alone dream divinely.\nOur dreams are characteristic of our waking thoughts and states; we\nare never out of character; never quite another, even when fancy seeks\nto metamorphose us entirely. The Person is One in all the manifold\nphases of the Many through which we transmigrate, and we find ourself\nperpetually, because we cannot lose ourself personally in the mazes of\nthe many. 'Tis the one soul in manifold shapes, ever the old friend of\nthe mirror in other face, old and new, yet one in endless revolution\nand metamorphosis, suggesting a common relationship of forms at their\nbase, with divergent types as these range wider and farther from their\ncentral archetype, including all concrete forms in nature, each\nreturning into other, and departing therefrom in endless revolution.[14]\n\n[Footnote 14: The seeming miracle and mystery of the mesmeric, or\nclairvoyant vivacity, is best explained by conceiving the instreaming\nforce of the operator driving the magnetic current from cerebrum to\nthe cerebellum of his victim, and there, while under the pressure,\nreporting the operator's sensations and thoughts through the common\nbrain of both. And this view is confirmed by the further fact that\nunder this dominating force the domain of memory is the more deeply\nsearched, and things revealed which, separate and alone, left unaided\nby such agencies, neither could have divined. It is like one's adding\na double brain to his own, and subsidizing it the while to serve his\nparticular ends.]\n\n\"I catch myself philosophizing most eloquently,\" wrote Thoreau, \"when\nfirst returning to consciousness in the night or morning. I make the\ntruest observations and distinctions then when the will is yet wholly\nasleep, and mind works like a machine without friction. I was conscious\nof having in my sleep transcended the limits of the individual, and\nmade observations and carried on conversations which in my waking hours\nI can neither recall nor appreciate. As if, in sleep, our individual\nfell into the infinite mind, and at the moment of awakening we found\nourselves on the confines of the latter. On awakening, we resume our\nenterprise, take up our bodies, and become limited minds again. We\nmeet and converse with those bodies which we have previously animated.\nThere is a moment in the dawn when the darkness of the night is\ndissipated, and before the exhalations of the day begin to rise, when\nwe see all things more truly than at any other time. The light is more\ntrustworthy, since our senses are pure and the atmosphere is less\ngross. By afternoon, all objects are seen in mirage.\"\n\nAll men are spiritualists in finer or coarser manners, as temperament\nand teaching dictate and determine,--the spiritual world revealing\nitself accordingly. Speculation has in all ages delighted itself in\nthis preternatural realm from whence have risen the ghosts of realties\ntoo unsubstantial and fugitive for ordinary senses to apprehend.\nWhatever the facts, they receive interpretation according to the\nspirit and intelligence of the believer. The past is full of such\nprodigies and phenomena, for whose solution all learning, sacred and\nprofane, is revived in its turn. It appears that like opinions have\ntheir rounds to run, like theories with their disciples, reappearing\nin all great crises of thought, and reaching a fuller solution at each\nsucceeding period. A faith, were such possible, destitute of an element\nof preternaturalism, or of mysticism, pure or mixed, could not gain\ngeneral acceptance. Some hold on the invisible connects the known with\nunknown, yet leaving the copula to be divined. We define it on our lips\nwhen we pronounce the word Person, and so approach, as near as we may,\nto the \"I Am\" of things.\n\n    Unseen our spirits move, are such,\n    So eager they to clasp, they feel, they touch\n    While yet our bodies linger, cannot speed\n    The distance that divides, confines their need.\n\n\n\n\nGENESIS AND LAPSE.\n\n\n  SUNDAY, 25.\n\n\"Before the Revolution of 1688,\" says Coleridge, \"metaphysics ruled\nwithout experimental philosophy. Since the Revolution, experimental\npsychology has in like manner prevailed, and we now feel the result.\nIn like manner, from Plotinus to Proclus, that is, from A. D. 250 to\nA. D. 450, philosophy was set up as a substitute for religion; during\nthe dark ages, religion superseded philosophy, and the consequences are\nequally instructive.\"\n\n\"The great maxim in legislation, intellectual or physical, is\n_subordinate, not exclude_. Nature, in her ascent, leaves nothing\nbehind; but at each step subordinates and glorifies,--mass, crystal,\norgan, sensation, sentience, reflection.\"\n\nTaken in reverse order of descent, Spirit puts itself before, at each\nstep protrudes faculty in feature, function, organ, limb, subordinating\nto glorify also,--person, volition, thought, sensibility, sense,\nbody,--animating thus and rounding creation to soul and sense alike.\nThe naturalist cannot urge too strongly the claims of physical, nor\nthe plea of the idealist be too vigorously pressed for metaphysical\nstudies. One body in one soul. Nature and spirit are inseparable, and\nare best studied as a unit. \"Either without the other,\" as Plato said\nof sex, \"is but half itself.\" Nature ends where spirit begins. The\nidealist's point of view is the obverse of the naturalist's, and each\nmust accost his side with a first love, before use has worn off the\nbloom and seduced their vision.\n\nGoethe said of Aristotle that \"he had better observed nature than any\nmodern, but was too rash in his inferences and conclusions\"; and he\nadds, \"we must go to work slowly, and more indulgently with Nature, if\nwe would get anything from her.\"\n\nInspired by his example of dealing thus reverently and lovingly with\nnature, the great naturalists of our time are reading secrets hitherto\nhidden from less careful and pious observers. If the results thus\nfar have not satisfied the idealist, it becomes him to consider that\nhis methods are the reverse of theirs, and that when they shall have\ntracked Life in its manifold shapes and modes of working in nature up\nto Spirit, their office is fulfilled, their work complete, and their\ndiscoveries are passed over to him for a higher generalization and\ngenesis. \"A physical delineation of nature,\" says Humboldt, \"terminates\nat the point where the sphere of intellect begins, and a new world is\nopened to our view; it marks the limit, but does not pass it.\"\n\nWhether man be the successor or predecessor of his inferiors in nature,\nis to be determined by exploring faithfully the realms of matter and\nof spirit alike, and complementing the former in the latter. Whether\nsurveyed in order descending or ascending, in genesis or process, from\nthe side of the idealist or of the naturalist, the keystone of the arch\nin either case is an ideal, underpropped by matter or upheld by mind.\n\n    \"If men be worlds, there is in every one\n    Something to answer in fit proportion\n    All the world's riches, and in substance this,--\n    PERSON his form's form, and soul's soul, is.\"\n\nMan, the sum total of animals, transcends all in being a Person, a\nresponsible creature. \"The distinguishing mark,\" says Aristotle,\n\"between man and the lower animals is this: that he alone is endowed\nwith the power of knowing good and evil, justice and injustice, and\nit is a participation in this that constitutes a family and a city.\"\nMan is man in virtue of being a Person, a self-determining will, held\naccountable to a spiritual Ideal. To affirm that brute creatures are\nendowed with freedom and choice, the sense of responsibility, were to\nexalt them into a spiritual existence and personality; whereas, it is\nplain enough that they are not above deliberation and choice, but below\nit, under the sway of Fate, as men are when running counter to reason\nand conscience. The will bridges the chasm between man and brute,\nand frees the fated creature he were else. Solitary, not himself,\nthe victim of appetite, inmate of the den, is man till freed from\nindividualism, and delivered into his free Personality. \"Ye must be\nborn again.\"\n\nThe conflict between man's desires and satisfactions declares his\ndefection from Personal holiness. While at one personally with\nhimself, life suffices, his wants are seconded as they rise, and his\nself-respect preserved inviolate. But lapsed from personal rectitude,\nfallen out of and below himself, he is at variance with things around\nas within, his senses deceive, his will is divided, and he becomes the\nvictim of duplicities, discontents, the prey of remorse.\n\n\"'Tis a miserable thing,\" says Glanvil, \"to have been happy; and a\nself-contented wretchedness is a double one. Had felicity always\nbeen a stranger to humanity, our present misery had not been. And\nhad not ourselves been the authors of our ruin, less. We might have\nbeen made unhappy; but since we are miserable, we chose it. He that\ngave our outward enjoyments might have taken them from us, but none\ncould have robbed us of innocence but ourselves. While man knows no\nsin, he is ignorant of nothing that it imports humanity to know; but\nwhen he has sinned, the same transgression that opens his eyes to see\nhis own shame, shuts them against most things else but that, and the\nnewly-purchased misery. With the nakedness of his body, he sees that of\nhis soul, and the blindness and disarray of his faculties to which his\nformer innocence was a stranger; and that which shows them to him makes\nthem. No longer the creature he was made, he loses not only his Maker's\nimage, but his own. And does not much more transcend the creatures\nplaced at his feet, than he comes short of his ancient self.\"\n\n    Whose the decree\n    Souls Magdalens must be\n    To know felicity,\n    The path to it\n    Through pleasure's pit,\n    Soft sin undress\n    Them of their holiness,--\n    Hath heaven so writ?\n\n    Happier the fate\n    That opes heaven's gate\n    With crystal key\n    Of purity,\n    And thus fulfils life's destiny.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nAUGUST.\n\n\n        \"... The milder sun\n    Does through a fragrant zodiac run,\n    And as it works the industrious bee\n    Computes its time as well as we:\n    How can such sweet and wholesome hours\n    Be reckoned but with fruits and flowers?\"\n      --_Marvell._\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nPLATO'S LETTERS.\n\n\n  TUESDAY, 3.\n\nDays like these give dignity and loveliness to the landscape; the scene\nenhanced by imperial tints of gold and purple, the orchards bending\nwith their ruddy burdens. It is the season of nectar and ambrosia, and\nsuggests the Platonic bees, the literature and conversation of the\nAcademy and Lyceum.\n\nVery interesting reading these letters of Plato, and a goodly volume\nto hold in one's hand, in antique type and binding. Whether a reprint\nwould reward the publisher, I cannot say. His seventh letter is an\naffecting piece of autobiography, and, taken with Plutarch's Dion,\ngives the best picture of his journeys to Syracuse that history affords.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"For it is a thing,\" he writes to the Kindred and Friends of Dion,\n\"altogether correct and honorable for him who aspires after things the\nmost honorable, both to himself and his country, to suffer whatever\nhe may suffer; for not one of us is naturally immortal; nor if this\nshould happen to any one would he become happy, as it seems he would\nto the multitude. For in things inanimate there is nothing either good\nor evil worthy of mention, but good or ill will happen to each soul,\neither existing with the body, or separated from it. But it is ever\nrequisite to trust really to the sacred accounts of the olden times,\nwhich inform us that the soul is immortal, and has judges of its\nconduct, and suffers the greatest punishments when liberated from the\nbody. Hence, it is requisite to think it is a lesser evil to suffer,\nthan to commit the greatest sins and injuries.\"\n\n     \u00b7     \u00b7     \u00b7     \u00b7     \u00b7\n\n\"And I should have felt more justly against those who murdered Dion,\nan anger, in a certain manner, almost as great as against Dionysius;\nfor both had injured myself and all the rest, so to say, in the highest\ndegree. For the former had destroyed a man who was willing to make use\nof justice; while the latter was unwilling to make use of it through\nthe whole of his dominions, although possessing the highest power. In\nwhich dominions had philosophy and power existed really, as it were,\nin the same dwelling, they would have set up amongst men, both Greeks\nand barbarians, an opinion not vainly shining, and in every respect\nthe true one, that neither a state nor a man can ever be happy unless\nby leading a life with prudence in subjection to justice, whether\npossessing those things themselves, or by being brought up in the\nhabits of holy persons, their rulers, or instructed in justice.\"\n\n\"This injury did Dionysius inflict. But the rest would have been a\ntrifling wrong as compared to these. But he who murdered Dion did not\nknow that he had done the same deed as Dionysius. For I clearly know,\nas far as possible for one man to speak confidently of another, that if\nDion had attained power, he would never have changed it to any other\nform of government than to that by which he first caused Syracuse, his\nown country, after he had delivered it from slavery, to look joyous,\nand had put it into the garb of freedom; and after all this, he would\nby every contrivance have adorned the citizens with laws both befitting\nand best; and he would have been ready to do what followed in due order\nafter this, and have colonized the whole of Sicily, and have freed it\nfrom the barbarians, by expelling some and subduing others, more easily\nthan Hiero did. But if these things had taken place through a man just,\nbrave, and temperate, and who was a philosopher, the same opinion of\nvirtue would have been produced amongst the multitude, as would have\nbeen amongst all men, so to say, and have saved Dionysius, had he been\npersuaded by me. But now some d\u00e6mon, surely, or some evil spirit,\nfalling upon with iniquity and impiety, and what is the greatest\nmatter, with the audacity of ignorance, in which all evils are rooted,\nand from which they spring up, and afterwards produce fruit the most\nbitter to those who have begotten it,--this has a second time subverted\nand destroyed everything. However, let us, for the sake of a good\naugury, keep for the third time a well-omened silence.\"[15]\n\n[Footnote 15: \"The great interest is not in the present city of\nSyracuse\" (writes a traveller, Feb. 9, 1869), \"but in its vicinity,\nwhere we inspect the doings of Greeks twenty-five to three thousand\nyears ago, and of the Romans at a later date. Their works are\nconstructed out of the solid rock, and have withstood the terrible\nearthquakes which have completely destroyed all traces of other works.\nAmong the interesting objects in the city is the cathedral, formerly\nthe temple of Minerva, which is a magnificent specimen of Doric\narchitecture, and has continued to be a place of worship through all\nthe changes of idolatry and Christianity, for twenty-five hundred\nyears; the church of St. Marcian here puts in its claim to have been\nthe first church in Europe in which Christian worship was celebrated.\nFull of interest are the catacombs and the ancient prisons in the\nquarries from which the materials of Syracuse were taken; here is the\nEar of Dionysius, the tyrant of Syracuse, a prison so arranged that\nevery word spoken within it was re-echoed into his chamber, where it is\nsaid he passed entire days listening to the complaints of his victims.\nHere, too, is the famous fountain of Arethusa, one of the Nereads,\nand whom Virgil reckons among the Sicilian nymphs, as the divinity\nwho inspired pastoral poetry. Syracuse was at different periods the\nresidence of Plato, Simonides, Zeno, and Cicero; it was the place where\nHicetus first propounded the true revolution of the earth; it was the\nbirthplace of the poets Theocritus and Moschus, and the philosopher\nArchimedes, who lost his life at the capture of the city by the\nRomans.\"]\n\nOne sees the noble spirit of Plato in these passages, and feels how the\ndeath of his friend and pupil, Dion, at the moment when he had won the\nfreedom of his country, and a sphere for proving his master's ideas in\nits rule, must have affected Plato, and the friends of Dion. If doubts\nhave been entertained as to the genuineness of these letters, it is\nplain they were written by some intimate friend of his, or of Dion, and\nhave the merit, at least, of historical accuracy and evidence.\n\n\nPLATO.[16]\n\n[Footnote 16: Born B.C. 429; died 348.]\n\nIt was a common speech among the Athenians, that Apollo begat\n\u00c6sculapius and Plato,--the one to cure bodies, the other, souls.\nCertainly the last was of divine extraction; his life and thoughts\nfruitful in genius and immortality. Like other superior persons, his\nbirth is traced to a divine ancestry, and dignified with fables.\nHis mother, Perictione, was a descendant of Solon, and a woman of\nextraordinary beauty. Aristo, his father, was of an eminent family.\nTo him Apollo appeared in a dream, enjoining upon him respect for his\nwife's maternity; and, in accordance with the vision, it was affirmed,--\n\n    \"He did not issue from a mortal bed;\n    A god his sire, a godlike life he led.\"\n\nWhilst he was yet an infant, carried in his mother's arms, Aristo went\nto Hymettus to sacrifice to the Muses, taking his wife and child with\nhim. As they were busied in the divine rites, she laid the babe in a\nthicket of myrtles hard by, to whom, as he slept, came a swarm of bees,\nartists of Hymettian honey, flying and buzzing about him, and (so runs\nthe myth) made a honeycomb in his mouth,--this being a presage of the\nsingular sweetness of his future eloquence foreseen in infancy.\n\nAs things fall out, not by chance, but by divine ordination, and are\nintimated in advance, for the most part, so Socrates, who was to win\nthe noblest of the Athenian youths for his pupil and disciple, dreamed,\nthe night before Plato was commended to him, that a young swan fled\nfrom Cupid's altar in the Academy, and sat upon his lap, thence flew up\nto heaven, delighting both gods and men with its music. Next day, as\nhe was relating this to some of his friends, Aristo came to him, and\npresented his son Plato to be his pupil. As soon as Socrates saw him,\nreading in his looks his ingenuity, \"Friends,\" said he, \"this is the\nswan of Cupid's Academy.\"\n\nWhilst a child, he was remarkable for his sharpness of apprehension,\nand the admirable modesty of his disposition; the beginnings of his\nyouth being seasoned with labor and love of study, which virtues\nincreased and harmonized with all others when he came to man's estate.\nHe early learned the art of wrestling, and became so great a proficient\nthat he took part in the Isthmian and Pythian games. As in years and\nvirtue, so likewise he increased extraordinarily in bodily proportion\nand shape, insomuch that Aristo named him Plato, which implies breadth\nof shoulders and bold eloquence. He also studied painting and poetry,\nwriting epics after the manner of Homer; but, finding how far he fell\nshort of him, he committed them to the flames. Intending to contest for\nthe palm at the Olympic Theatre, he wrote some dramatic pieces, and\ngave them to the players, to be performed at the festivals. But the\nday before these were to have been presented, chancing to hear Socrates\ndiscourse in the theatre before the Bacchanals, he was so taken with\nhim that he not only forbore to contest at the time, but wholly gave\nover all tragic poetry, and burned his verses. From that time, being\nthen in his twentieth year, he became a follower of Socrates, and\nstudied philosophy.\n\nHe studied eight years with Socrates, committing, as was the custom\nwith his scholars, the substance of his master's discourses to writing.\nOf these were some of his Dialogues afterwards composed, with such\nadditions of argument and ornament that Socrates, hearing him recite\nhis Lysis, exclaimed, \"O Hercules! how many things this young man\nfables of me!\"\n\nHe was one of the youngest of the Senate at the time of Socrates'\narraignment. The judges being much displeased with Socrates, Plato\ntook the orator's chair, intending to plead in his master's defence,\nbeginning, \"Though I, Athenians, am the youngest of those that come\nto this place,\"--but, as all the Senate were against his speaking, he\nwas constrained to leave the chair. Socrates being condemned, Plato\noffered to obtain the money for purchasing his liberty, which Socrates\nrefused. Upon the death of Socrates, Plato,--whose excessive grief\nis mentioned by Plutarch,--with others of his disciples, fearing the\ntyranny of those who put their master to death, fled to Euclid at\nMegara, who befriended and entertained them till the storm was blown\nover. He afterwards travelled in Italy, where he addicted himself to\nthe discipline of Pythagoras, which, though he saw it replenished with\ncurious and high reason, yet he chiefly affected the continence and\nchastity, along with the knowledge of nature, possessed by that school.\n\nDesiring to add to the knowledge of the Pythagoreans the benefits of\nother disciplines, he went to Cyrene to learn geometry of Theodorus,\nthe mathematician; thence into Egypt, under pretence of selling\noil,--the scope of his journey thither being to bring the knowledge\nof astrology from thence, and to be instructed in the rites of the\nprophets and the mysteries. Having taken a full survey of the country,\nhe settled himself at Sais, learning of the school of wise men there\nthe doctrines of the universe, the immortality of the soul, and its\ntransmigrations. From Egypt he returned to Tarentum in Italy, where\nhe conversed with Archytas the elder, and other Pythagoreans, adding\nto the learning of Socrates that of Pythagoras. He would have gone\nalso to India to study with the Magi; but the wars then raging in Asia\nprevented. While in Egypt he probably became familiar with the opinions\nof Hermes Trismegistus. That he also received some light from Moses is\nprobable, since his laws were translated into Greek before Alexander's\ntime, and Josephus, the Jew, affirms, \"that he chiefly followed our\nLawgiver.\" And Numenius asks, \"Of philosophers, what is Plato but Moses\nspeaking Greek?\" It is known that he brought from Sicily, where he went\nthrice, at the invitation of Dionysius the younger, the three books of\nPhilolaus, the Pythagorean, on natural philosophy, the first that were\npublished out of that school. These he appears to have woven into his\ndialogue entitled \"Timeus.\" Timeon accuses him of this appropriation.\n\n    \"You Plato with the same affection caught\n    With a great sum, a little treatise bought,\n    Where all the knowledge which you own was taught,\"--\n\nalluding to his having received of Dionysius above eighty talents, and\nbeing flush with his money.\n\nHe is said to owe much to Protagoras, and wrote a dialogue under that\ntitle. In politics, as in morals, he drew largely from the opinions of\nhis master, Socrates; and it is related that he was indebted to the\nbooks of Sophron, which, having been long neglected, were by him first\nbrought to Athens, and found under his pillow at his death. Certainly\nhe, of all scholars, had the best right to borrow, since none could\nrecognize his own in his pages, and any author might glory in being\nesteemed worthy of lending a syllable to so consummate a creator.\n\nOn returning to Athens from his Egyptian travels, he settled himself in\nthe Academy, a gymnasium, or place of exercise, in the suburbs of the\ncity, surrounded by woods, and taking its name from Academus, one of\nthe heroes.\n\n    \"The fluent, sweet-tongued sage first led the way,\n    Who writes as smoothly as from some green spray\n    Of Academe grasshoppers chirp their lay.\"\n\nThe occasion of his living here was that he owned an orchard adjoining\nthe Academy. In process of time, this orchard was much enlarged\nby good-will, studious persons bequeathing of their riches to the\nprofessors of philosophy, to maintain the quiet and tranquillity of a\nphilosophical life. Here he first taught philosophy; afterwards in the\nGardens of Colonus. At the entrance of his school was written,--\n\n    \"Let none ignorant of geometry enter here\";\n\nsignifying, by this inscription, not only the proportion and harmony of\nlines, but also of inward affections and ideas.\n\nHis school took the name of the Academy. He thought it was a great\nmatter, in the education of youth, to accustom them to take delight\nin good things; otherwise, he affirmed, pleasures were the bait of\nevil. Education should be conducted with a serene sweetness, never by\nforce or violence, but by gentleness, accompanied with persuasion and\nevery kind of invitation. His teaching was conducted by conversation\nor dialogue. His method of discourse was threefold,--first, to declare\nwhat that is which is taught; then, for what reason it is asserted,\nwhether as a principal cause, or as a comparison, and whether to defend\nthe tenet, or controvert it; thirdly, whether it be rightly said. He\nexpounded the things which he conceived to be true; confuted those\nwhich were false; suspended his opinions on those which were doubtful.\n\nHis philosophy comprised the elements of the school of Heraclitus,\nPythagoras, and Socrates, combined in a system which he distributed\ninto three parts,--moral, consisting of action; natural, in\ncontemplation; rational, in distinction of true and false, which,\nthough useful in all, yet belongs to pure thought. As of old,\nin a tragedy the chorus acted alone; then Thespis, making some\nintermissions of the chorus, introduced one actor, \u00c6schylus a second,\nSophocles a third; in like manner, philosophy was at first but of one\nkind,--physic; then Socrates added ethic; thirdly, Plato, inventing\ndialectic, made it perfect.\n\nThis third part, dialectic, consisting in reason and dissertation, he\ntreated thus: Though judgments arise from the sense, yet the judgment\nof truth is not in the senses. The mind alone is the judge of things,\nand only fit to be credited, because the mind alone sees that which\nis simple, uniform, and certain, which is named Idea. All sense he\nconceived to be obtuse and slow, and nowise able to perceive those\nthings which seem subject to sense; those things being so minute that\nthey cannot fall under sense; so movable and various, that nothing\nis one, constant and the same; all are in continual alteration and\nmovement, and subjects of opinion only. Science he affirmed to be\nnowhere but in the reasons and thoughts of the mind, whose objects are\nideas, whence he approved definitions of things, and applied these\nto whatsoever subject he discussed, discriminating things and naming\nthem etymologically. In this consisted the discipline of dialectic;\nthat is, of speech concluded by reason. Though Socrates practised\nconversation by way of question and answer, or dialogue, yet Plato so\nmuch refined the form, both in speech and composition, that he deserves\nto be preferred before others, as well for invention as reformation.\nThe analytical method, which reduces the thing sought into its\nprinciple, is his invention.[17]\n\n[Footnote 17: \"Plato,\" says Grote, \"appreciated dialogue, not only as\nthe road to a conclusion, but for the mental discipline and suggestive\ninfluences of the tentative and verifying process. It was his purpose\nto create in his hearers a disposition to prosecute philosophical\nresearches of their own, and at the same time to strengthen their\nability of doing this with effect. This remark is especially confirmed\nin the two dialogues, the Sophisticus and Politicus, wherein he defends\nhimself against reproaches seemingly made at the time. To what does\nall this tend? Why do you stray so widely from your professed topic?\nCould you not have reached the point by a shorter road? He replies by\ndistinctly proclaiming--that the process, with its improving influence\non the mind, stands first in his thoughts, the direct conclusion of the\ninquiry only second; that the special topic which he discusses, though\nin itself important, is nevertheless chosen primarily with a view to\nits effect in communicating general method and dialectical aptitude,\njust as a schoolmaster, when he gives out to his pupils a word to be\nspelt, looks mainly, not to the exactness in spelling the particular\nword, but to their command of good spelling generally. To form\ninquisitive testing minds, fond of philosophical debate as a pursuit,\nand looking at opinions on the negative as on the positive side, is the\nfirst object of most of Plato's dialogues: to teach positive truth, is\nonly a secondary object.\"--_Grote's Plato, Vol. II, p. 399._]\n\nSeveral words were also introduced by him in philosophy. Of these are\n\"element,\" which before his time was confounded with \"principle.\" He\ndistinguished them thus: \"Principle is that which has nothing before\nit whereof it might be generated; elements are compounded.\" The word\n\"poem\" was first used by him. So were \"superficies\" and \"antipodes.\"\n\"Divine providence,\" words since appropriated by Christian theologians,\nwas first an expression of Plato's. He, too, first considered the force\nand efficacy of grammar as the organ of pure thought.\n\nHis school was the pride of Athens, and drew into it its most gifted\nyouth, as well as scholars from abroad. His most distinguished\ndisciples were Speusippus, his nephew, whom he reformed by his example\nand teachings, and who became eminent as a philosopher, succeeding\nhim in the Academy; Xenocrates, whom he much loved; Aristotle, the\nStagirite, whom Plato used to call a wild colt, foreseeing that he\nwould oppose him in his philosophy, as a colt, having sucked, kicks its\ndam. Xenocrates was slow, Aristotle quick, in extremity; whence Plato\nsaid of them, \"See what an unequal team this of mine. What an ass and\nhorse to yoke together!\"\n\nIsocrates the orator, and Demosthenes, were among his auditors; Dion of\nSyracuse was an intimate friend of his, and by his persuasions he made\ntwo journeys to Syracuse, at one of which he was sold into slavery by\nthe tyranny of Dionysius, and being redeemed by his friend, returned to\nAthens, as is related by Plutarch. Xenophon was his contemporary.\n\nAt home he lived quietly in the Academy, not taking part in public\naffairs, the laws and customs of the Athenians not being in harmony\nwith his ideas of republican institutions. \"Princes,\" he said, \"had\nno better possessions than the familiarity of such men as could not\nflatter, wisdom being as necessary to a prince as the soul to the\nbody; and that kingdoms would be most happy if either philosophers\nruled, or the rulers were inspired with philosophy, since nothing is\nmore pernicious than power and arrogance accompanied with ignorance.\nSubjects should be such as princes seem to be.\" And he held that a\nphilosopher might retire from the commonwealth if its affairs were\nunjustly administered. \"A just man was a perpetual magistrate.\"\n\nHe affirmed that philosophy was the true helper of the soul, all else\nbut ornamental; that nothing is more pleasing to a sound mind than to\nspeak and hear the truth spoken, than which nothing is better or more\nlasting.\n\nThe study of philosophy, if it made him select in the choice of his\nassociates, did not sour his temper, nor render him exclusive in his\nintercourse and fellowship with mankind. At the Olympian games, he\nonce fell into company with some strangers who did not know him, upon\nwhose affections he gained greatly by his affable conversation, dining\nand spending the day with them, never mentioning either the Academy or\nSocrates, only saying his name was Plato. When they came to Athens, he\nentertained them courteously. \"Come, Plato,\" said the strangers, \"now\nshow us your namesake, Socrates' disciple. Take us to the Academy:\nrecommend us to him, that we may know him.\" He, smiling a little, as he\nused, said, \"I am the man.\" Whereat they were greatly amazed, having\nconversed so familiarly with a person of that eminence, who used no\nboasting or ostentation, and showed that, besides his philosophical\ndiscourse, his ordinary conversation was extremely winning.\n\nHe lived single, yet soberly and chastely. So constant was he in his\ncomposure and gravity, that a youth brought up under him, returning to\nhis parents, and hearing his father speak vehemently and loudly, said,\n\"I never found this in Plato.\" He ate but once a day, or, if the second\ntime, very sparingly, abstaining mostly from animal food. He slept\nalone, and much discommended the contrary practice.\n\nOf his prudence, patience, moderation, and magnanimity, and other\nvirtues, there are many instances recorded. When he left his school,\nhe was wont to say, \"See, youths, that you employ your idle hours\nusefully. Prefer labor before idleness, unless you esteem rust above\nbrightness.\"\n\nTo Philedonus, who blamed him that he was as studious to learn as\nteach, and asked him how long he meant to be a disciple, he replied,\n\"As long as I am not ashamed of growing better and wiser.\"\n\nBeing asked what difference there was between a learned man and\nunlearned,--\"The same as betwixt a physician and patient.\"\n\nTo Antisthenes, making a long oration,--\"You forget that discourse is\nto be measured by the hearer, not the speaker.\"\n\nHearing a vicious person speak in defence of another,--\"This man,\" said\nhe, \"carries his heart in his tongue.\" He blamed having musicians at\nfeasts, \"to hinder discourse.\"\n\nSeeing the Agregentines so magnificent in building, and luxurious in\nfeasting,--\"These people,\" said he, \"build as if they were immortal,\nand eat as if they were to die instantly.\"\n\nHe advised \"drunken and angry men to look in the glass if they would\nrefrain from those vices,\" and Xenocrates, by reason of his severe\ncountenance, \"to sacrifice to the Graces.\"\n\nBeing desirous to wean Timotheus, the son of Canon, the Athenian\ngeneral, from sumptuous military feasts, he invited him into the\nAcademy to a plain moderate supper, such as pleasing sleep succeeds\nin a good temper of body. The next day, Timotheus, observing the\ndifference, said, \"They who feasted with Plato never complained the\nnext morning.\"\n\nHis servant having displeased him for some offence, he said to him,\n\"Were I not angry, I should chastise you for it.\" At another time, his\nservant being found faulty, he had him lay off his coat; and, while he\nstood with his hand raised, a friend coming in asked him what he was\ndoing. \"Punishing an angry man,\" said he. It was a saying of his, that\n\"no wise man punishes in respect of past faults, but for preventing\nfuture ones.\"\n\nOn being told that some one spoke ill of him, he answered, \"No\nmatter: I will live so that none shall believe him.\" When asked\nwhether there should be any record left to posterity of his actions\nor sayings,--\"First,\" said he, \"we must get a name, then many things\nfollow.\"\n\nContinuing a single life to his end, and not having any heirs of his\nown, he bequeathed his estate to his nephew, young Adimantus, the son\nof Adimantus, his second brother. Besides his orchard and grounds\ninherited or added by purchase, he left to him \"three mina of silver,\na golden cup, and a finger and ear-rings of gold. The gold ear-ring\nwas one he wore when a boy, as a badge of his nobility; and the golden\ncup was one of sacrifice. He left to his servants, Ticho, Bictus, and\nApolloniades, Dionysius' goods.\" He \"owed no man anything.\"\n\nHe died on his eighty-first birthday, for which reason the Magi at\nAthens sacrificed to him, as conceiving him to have been more than man,\nand as having fulfilled the most perfect number, nine multiplied into\nitself. He died of old age; which Seneca ascribes to his temperance and\ndiligence.\n\nThis, among other epitaphs, was inscribed on his tombstone:--\n\n    \"Earth in her bosom Plato's body hides:\n    His soul amongst the deathless gods resides.\n    Aristo's son, whose fame to strangers spread,\n    Made them admire the sacred life he led.\"\n\nPlutarch tells that Solon began the story of the Atlantides, which\nhe had learned of the priests of Sais, but gave it over on account of\nhis old age and the largeness of the work. He adds that \"Plato, taking\nthe same argument as a waste piece of fertile ground fallen to him by\nhereditary right, manured, refined, and inclosed it with large walls,\nporches, and galleries, such as never any fable had before; but he\ntoo, undertaking it late, died before completing it. 'The more things\nwritten delight us, the more they disappoint us,' he remarks, 'when\nnot finished.' For as the Athenian city left the temple of Jupiter,\nso Plato's wisdom, amongst many writings, left the Atlantides alone\nimperfect.\"\n\nThe order in which his dialogues were written is yet a question of\ndispute with scholars. It is conceded, however, that the \"Republic\" and\nthe \"Laws\" were completed, if not wholly written, in his old age. Nor\nis the number of his dialogues accurately determined. Some attributed\nto him are supposed to be spurious, as are some of the letters. All are\ncontained in Bohn's edition of the works of Plato, and accessible in\nscholarly translations to the English reader.[18]\n\n[Footnote 18: Among the works deserving of a wider circulation is\nThomas Stanley's \"History of Philosophy.\" It well repays perusal,\ncompiled as it was by an enthusiastic student of ancient thought, from\nreliable sources, and embodying, in an attractive style, \"the Lives,\nOpinions, Actions, and Discourses of the Philosophers of every Sect,\nillustrated with Portraits of many of them. Third edition. Folio, pp.\n750. London, 1701.\" The preceding notes are mostly extracted from this\nhistory.]\n\nOf the great minds of antiquity, Plato stands preeminent in breadth and\nbeauty of speculation. His books are the most suggestive, sensible,\nthe friendliest, and, one may say, most modern of books. And it almost\natones for any poverty of thought in our time, this admission to a\nmind thus opulent in the grandeur and graces of intelligence, giving\none a sense of his debt to genius and letters. His works are a cosmos,\nas Pythagoras named the world. And one rises from their perusal as if\nreturned from a circumnavigation of the globe of knowledge, human and\ndivine. So capacious was his genius, so comprehensive, so inclusive,\nso subtile, and so versatile, withal, that he readily absorbed the\nlearning of his time, moulding this into a body of beauty and harmony\ncompact; working out, with the skill and completeness of a creator, the\nperfect whole we see. His erudition was commensurate with his genius,\nand he the sole master of his tools; since in him we have an example,\nas successful as it was daring, of an endeavor to animate and give\nindividuality to his age in the persons whose ideas gave birth to the\nage itself. And fortunate it was for him, as for his readers, that he\nhad before him a living illustration of his time in the person of the\nchief character in his dialogues, Socrates himself.\n\nOf these dialogues, the \"Republic\" is the most celebrated, embodying\nhis ripest knowledge. It fables a city planted in the divine ideas of\ntruth and justice as these are symbolized in human forms and natural\nthings. And one reads with emotions of surprise at finding so much\nof sense and wisdom embodied in a form so fair, and of such wide\napplication, as if it were suited to all peoples and times. Where\nin philosophic literature is found a structure of thought so firmly\nfixed on natural foundations, and placing beyond cavil or question the\nsupremacy of mind over matter, portraying so vividly the passage of\nideas through the world, and thus delivering down a divine order of\nsociety to mankind?[19]\n\n[Footnote 19: If his \"Republic\" and \"Laws\" hardly justify him against\nthose who accused him of having written a form of government which he\ncould persuade none to practise, it may be said, in his favor, that\nhe gave laws to the Syracusians and Cretans, refusing the like to the\nAyreneans and Thebans, saying, \"It was difficult to prescribe laws to\nmen in prosperity.\"]\n\nIn reading his works, one must have the secret of his method. Written,\nas these are, in the simplest style of composition, his reader may\nsometimes weary of the slow progress of the argument, and lose\nhimself in the devious windings of the dialogue. But this is the sole\nsubtraction from the pleasure of perusal,--the voluminous sacrifices\nthus made to method: so much given to compliment, to dulness, in the\ninterlinked threads of the golden colloquy. Yet Plato rewards as none\nother; his regal text is everywhere charged with lively sense, flashing\nin every line, every epithet, episode, with the rubies and pearls of\nuniversal wisdom. And the reading is a coronation.[20]\n\n[Footnote 20: \"The philosophy of the fourth century, B. C.,\" says\nGrote, \"is peculiarly valuable and interesting, not merely from its\nintrinsic speculative worth,--from the originality and grandeur of its\ntwo principal heroes, Plato and Aristotle,--from its coincidence with\nthe full display of dramatic, rhetorical, artistic genius, but also\nfrom a fourth reason not unimportant because it is purely Hellenic;\npreceding the development of Alexandrian and the amalgamation of\nOriental veins of thought, with the inspirations of the Academy and\nthe Lyceum. The Orentes and the Jordan had not yet begun to flow\nwestward, and to impart their own color to the waters of Attica and\nLatium. Not merely the real, but also the ideal, world present to the\nminds of Plato and Aristotle, were purely Hellenic. Even during the\ncentury immediately following, this had ceased to be fully true in\nrespect to the philosophers of Athens; and it became less and less\ntrue with each succeeding century. New foreign centres of rhetoric\nand literature, Asiatic and Alexandrian Hellenism, were fostered\ninto importance by regal enactments. Plato and Aristotle are thus\nthe special representatives of genuine Hellenic philosophy. The\nremarkable intellectual ascendancy acquired by them in their day\nand maintained over succeeding centuries, was one main reason why\nthe Hellenic vein was enabled so long to maintain itself, though in\nimpoverished condition, against adverse influences from the East,\never increasing in force. Plato and Aristotle outlasted all their\npagan successors,--successors at once less purely Hellenic and less\ngifted. And when St. Jerome, near seven hundred and fifty years\nafter the decease of Plato, commemorated with triumph the victory of\nunlettered Christians over the accomplishments and genius of paganism,\nhe illustrated the magnitude of the victory by singling out Plato and\nAristotle as the representatives of vanquished philosophy.\"--_Grote's\nPreface to Life of Plato._]\n\nPlato's views of social life are instructive. His idea of woman, of her\nplace and function, should interest women of our time. They might find\nmuch to admire, and less to criticise than they imagine. His opinions\nwere greatly in advance of the practice of his own time, and, in some\nimportant particulars, of ours, and which, if carried into legislation,\nwould favorably affect social purity. His proposition to inflict a\nfine on bachelors, and deny them political privileges, is a compliment\nto marriage, showing in what estimate he held that relation. So his\nprovision for educating the children, and giving women a place in the\ngovernment of the republic, after they had given citizens to it,\nare hints of our modern infant schools and woman's rights movements.\nHis teachings on social reform generally are the best of studies, in\nsome respects more modern than the views of our time,--anticipating\nthe future legislation of communities. On the matter of race and\ntemperament he thought profoundly, comprehending as have few of our\nnaturalists the law of descent, complexions, physiognomical features\nand characteristics.\n\n\nSOCRATES.\n\n\"Socrates,\" says Grote, \"disclaimed all pretensions to wisdom. He\nannounced himself as a philosopher, that is, as ignorant, yet as\npainfully conscious of his ignorance and anxiously searching for\nwisdom as a correction to it, while most men were equally ignorant,\nbut unconscious of their ignorance, believed themselves to be already\nwise, and delivered confident opinions without ever having analyzed the\nmatters on which they spoke. The conversation of Socrates was intended,\nnot to teach wisdom, but to raise men out of this false persuasion of\nwisdom, which he believed to be the natural state of the human mind,\ninto that mental condition which he called philosophy.\n\n\"His 'Elenchus' made them conscious of their ignorance, and anxious to\nescape from it, and prepared for mental efforts in search of knowledge;\nin which search Socrates assisted them, but without declaring, and\neven professing inability to declare, where the truth lay in which\nthis search was to end. He considered this change itself a great and\nserious improvement, converting what was evil, radical, ingrained,\ninto evil superficial and moveable, which was a preliminary condition\nto any positive acquirement. The first thing to be done was to create\nsearchers after truth, men who look at the subject for themselves, with\nearnest attention, and make up their own individual convictions. Even\nif nothing ulterior were achieved, that alone would be a great deal.\n\n\"Such was the scope of the Socratic Conversation, and such the\nconception of philosophy (the peculiarity which Plato borrowed from\nSocrates), which is briefly noted in the passage of the Lysis and\ndeveloped in the Platonic dialogues, especially in the Symposeum.\"\n\nObserve how confidently the great master of Dialectic went into the\ndiscussion, dealing directly all the while with the Personality of his\nauditors, and driving straight through the seeming windings of the\ndiscourse at the seats of thought and of sensibility, by his searching\nhumor, his delightful irony, thus making the mind the mind's guest and\nquerist in his suggestive colloquy. Affecting perhaps to know less than\nany, he yet showed those with whom he conversed how little they knew,\nwhile professing to know so much, convicting them of being ignorant of\ntheir own ignorance, real wisdom beginning in humility and openness to\ninstruction. If he puzzled and perplexed, it was but to reduce their\negotism and ignorance, and prepare them for receiving the truths he had\nto lay open in themselves. Plato, Aristotle, the German Methodists, but\ndefine and deliver the steps of his method.\n\n\nBERKELEY.\n\nOf modern philosophic writers, Berkeley has given the best example of\nthe Platonic Dialogue, in his \"Minute Philosopher,\" a book to be read\nwith profit, for its clearness of thought and method. His claim to the\nname of metaphysician transcends those of most of his countrymen. He,\nfirst of his nation, dealt face to face with ideas as distinguished\nfrom scholastic fancies and common notions, and thus gave them their\nplace in the order of mind; and this to exhaustive issues, as his\nEnglish predecessors in thought had failed to do. His idealism is\nthe purest which the British Isles have produced. Platonic as were\nCudworth, Norris, Henry More, in cast of thought less scholastic than\nTaylor of Norwich,--who was an exotic, rather, transplanted from\nAlexandrian gardens,--Berkeley's thinking is indigenous, strong in\nnative sense and active manliness. His works are magazines of rare and\nadmirable learning, subtleties of speculation, noble philanthropies.\nThey deserve a place in every scholar's library, were it but to mark\nthe fortunes of thought, and accredit the poet's admiring line:--\n\n    \"To Berkeley every virtue under heaven.\"\n\n\n\n\nBOEHME.\n\n\n  MONDAY, 9.\n\nWrite to Walton, the British Boehmist, whose letters interest by the\ninformation they contain of himself and of his literary ventures. Any\ndisciple of the distinguished Mystic and student of his works, living\nin foggy London in these times, is as significant and noteworthy as\nare students of Hegel in St. Louis.[21] Mysticism is the sacred spark\nthat has lighted the piety and illuminated the philosophy of all places\nand times. It has kindled especially and kept alive the profoundest\nthinking of Germany and of the continent since Boehme's first work,\n\"The Aurora,\" appeared. Some of the deepest thinkers since then have\nopenly acknowledged their debt to Boehme, or secretly borrowed without\nacknowledgment their best illustrations from his writings. It is\nconceded that his was one of the most original and subtlest of minds,\nand that he has exercised a deeper influence on the progress of thought\nthan any one since Plotinus. Before Bacon, before Newton, Swedenborg,\nGoethe, he gave theories of nature, of the signatures of colors and\nforms, of the temperaments, the genesis of sex, the lapse of souls, and\nof the elementary worlds. He stripped life of its husk, and delivered\nits innermost essence. Instead of mythology, he gave, if not science,\nthe germs, if nothing more. And when the depths of his thinking have\nbeen fathomed by modern observers it will be soon enough to speak of\nnew revelations and arcana. His teeming genius is the genuine mother\nof numberless theories since delivered, from whose trunk the natural\nsciences have branched forth and cropped out in scientific systems.\nAnd like Swedenborg, it has borne a theology, cosmology, illustrious\ntheosophists and naturalists,--Law, Leibnitz, Oken, Schelling, Goethe,\nBaader, and other philosophers of Germany.\n\n[Footnote 21: A mystic book entitled \"Quinquenergia, or Proposals for a\nnew Practical Theology,\" by Henry S. Sutton, was published in London in\n1854. Mr. Sutton is plainly tinctured with Boehme's theosophy, if not\na disciple of his as appears from his book. It is a volume of singular\noriginality, and the latest modern attempt at a Genesis from First\nPrinciples that I have met with. It seems to have attracted few readers\nin England or in this country.]\n\nHis learned English disciple and translator, Rev. William Law, an\nauthor once highly esteemed and much read by a former generation of\npietists, says of him in his Introduction to Boehme's Works:--\n\n\"Whatsoever the great Hermes delivered in oracles, or Pythagoras spoke\nby authority, or Socrates or Aristotle affirmed, whatever divine Plato\nprophesied, or Plotinus proved,--this and all this, or a far higher\nand profounder philosophy, is contained in Boehme's writings. And if\nthere be any friendly medium that can possibly reconcile these ancient\ndifferences between the divine Wisdom that has fixed her place in Holy\nWrit and her stubborn handmaid, natural Reason,--this happy marriage of\nthe Spirit of God and the soul, this wonderful consent of discords in\nharmony,--we shall find it in great measure in Boehme's books; only\nlet not the non or misunderstanding of the most rational reader (if not\na little sublimed above the sphere of common reason) be imputed as a\nfault to this elevated philosopher, no more than it was to the divine\nPlotinus, whose scholars, even after much study, failed to comprehend\nmany of his doctrines.\"\n\nDr. Henry More, with a qualifying discrimination of Law's estimate,\nwrites:--\n\n\"Jacob Boehme, I conceive, is to be reckoned in the number of those\nwhose imaginative faculty has the preeminence above the rational,\nand though he was a holy and good man, his natural complexion,\nnotwithstanding, was not destroyed but retained its property still, and\ntherefore his imagination being very busy about divine things, he could\nnot without a miracle fail of becoming an enthusiast, and of receiving\ndivine truths upon the account of the strength and vigor of his fancy,\nwhich being so well qualified with holiness and sanctity, proved not\nunsuccessful in sundry apprehensions, but in others it fared with him\nafter the manner of men, the sagacity of his imagination failing him,\nas well as the anxiety of reason, does others of like integrity with\nhimself.\"[22]\n\n[Footnote 22: Students of Boehme have been few and far between. Edward\nTaylor appears to have been Boehme's most distinguished disciple in\nEngland before William Law. He published \"A Compendious View of the\nTeutonic Philosophy.\" London, 1670. Also Jacob Boehme's \"Philosophy\nUnfolded in divers Considerations and Demonstrations, and a Short\nAccount of his Life.\" London, 1690. John Sparrow published Boehme's\nTracts and Epistles. London, 1662. John Pordage's \"Theologia Mystica,\nor the Mystic Divinity of the Eternal Invisibles,\" London, 1683, is a\nrare volume.]\n\n\nMR. WALTON'S LETTER.\n\n\"By Theosophy I understand the true science of Deity, Nature, and\nCreature. There are two classes of theosophists, or true mystic\nphilosophers. The one such as Gichtel, the editor of the first German\nedition of Jacob Boehme (whose letters and life in seven volumes\nare now being translated into English, and if the necessary funds\ncan be raised they will be printed.) Gichtel truly experimented the\nregenerated life of Christianity according to the science thereof\ncontained in Boehme's writings; Bramwell fathomed Christianity\naccording to the simple _prima facie_ representation thereof in\nthe Gospel; in like manner in another form Terstegan was also a\nhigh proficient therein, as were also some of the ancient mystics\nand ascetics of France, Spain, and Germany, as referred to in the\nCyclopedia. In the path of Gichtel there have been few and remote\nfollowers.\n\n\"The other class is composed of those who have intellectually fathomed\nthe scope of Boehme's philosophy, such as Freher, Law, Lee, Pordage,\nand others.\n\n\"As to the pretended independent 'seers,' outsiders of Boehme's\nrevelations,--whose names need not be mentioned,--these are of course\nnot to be admitted into the category of the standard theologists,\nbeing mere phantasmatists or visionaries, and who, though uttering\na great many good, and to some recondite minds, surprising things,\nsay in effect nothing but what is to be found in a much more solid\nand edifying form in the writings of ancient classic divines and\nphilosophers.\n\n\"As you will see by the accompanying printed papers, I assert that\nfor theosophy to have its true efficiency in the world, there must\nnot only be an intellectual acquaintance with all nature, magical,\nmental, and physical,--all which is present in every point of sense\nand mental essence as revealed in Boehme,--but there must be the\nactual realization of the translocated principles of man's threefold\nbeing into their original co-relative positions, and this in high\nconfirmed reality; which is only another expression for the theological\nand alchymical term, 'regeneration.' And further, I say, there must\ntherewith be a profound knowledge of the science and manifestation of\nanimal magnetism.\n\n\"As to spiritism, of course at present theosophy has nothing to do with\nit, except to contemplate the workings of the magia of the fantasy of\nthe grounds of nature, as shown in it.\n\n\"I may just observe, that, if you are not acquainted with the facts,\nyou will find in V. Schubert, a German Professor, some most interesting\ninterpretations of and deductions from Boehme's philosophy. He is a\ntruly ingenious elucidator of many of nature's secrets purely from\nhis conception of Boehme, and for general reading in theosophy, is\nmuch more interesting than Baader, who is very technical. But, as\nfor myself, I cannot derive from these or any other authors, what my\nunderstanding requires that is beyond the manuscripts and printed\nauthors in my sole possession. Those I have, contain the philosophy\nof nature and creation far more lucidly and classically opened\nthan is found in any modern publication, for it is fundamentally\ndemonstrated therein; whereas in Hamburger and others, Boehme is merely\nsystematized, leaving his profundities in their original abyss, like\nore in the mine; whereas my authors work it all out as far as they\ncould in their day.\n\n\"I am and have been long engaged in preparing a compendium of the\ntrue principles of all Being, and setting forth all its stages up to\nthe present time: all which is a great mystery both to philosophy and\nscience, as you are doubtless aware. It has never yet been done, and is\nindeed the grand desideratum. We have never yet been able to reconcile\nthe seeming or allowed declaration of Scripture concerning the\ncreation, with the Newtonian philosophy, and the disclosures of modern\nchymic, electric, and other sciences, so as to present a solid, united,\nand convincing chain of the history of nature from the first point of\nmental essence, to the present state of physical things. And yet there\nmust be such a history and knowledge thereof, latent in the human mind,\nand in the present daylight of theosophy and physical science, capable\nof being educed thereout, in a manner commending itself on the sight\nof it, with almost the force of self-evidence, though in some points\nappearing to clash with the seeming sense of Scripture.\n\n\"My labors are in the preparation of a series of symbolic\nillustrations (like Quarle's Emblems), whereby, with the accompanying\ntext, to produce this kind of self-evident conviction. Of course I only\nopen the procedure to the present time. You may conceive the time and\nlabor and expense entailed by such an effort. Also the fierce daily\nlong discussions with an avowed and actual rationalist opponent, whom\nI have for the purpose, without which the truth or science cannot be\nmade to rise up apprehensively in the mind, and then only in a mind\nin which theosophical and modern scientific knowledge is, as it were,\nall in living activity, like a magic looking-glass, wherein the images\nare all living, and can be called forth instantly into visibility, as\nrequired by the formula of each successive consideration arising in the\ndiscussion, or during private meditation and reading of Boehme, having\nan object in view.\n\n\"The science of all things lies in the Mind. In Newton this plant of\nJacob Boehme was largely cultivated for his day; but now, by means of\nmodern science, the true history of all being can be brought forth as\na complete logical tree. And this is what the world wants, a perfect\nphilosophy and a perfect theology, as one only sound of the word of\nnature. This was the divine object in giving the last dispensation\nthrough Boehme, though this was such a chaos yet unavoidable. From\nwhich revelation of the ground and mystery of all things have ensued\nall the grand regenerating discoveries of modern science, as I have\nshown, and can now more fully demonstrate. All date from that new\nopened puncture of divine light in Boehme.\n\n\"I may just mention that I have a collection of all the chief editions\nof Boehme, in German, Dutch, English, and French, together with other\nelucidations whereby to produce a new and most harmonious edition of\nBoehme. Indeed such a thing cannot be accomplished without the means in\nmy possession. I also have at command with me the literary and critical\nknowledge requisite to produce a correct translation. For there are\nnumerous errors of sense in the German as in the English copies.\nIndeed in some cases the sense of the passage is not apprehensible.\nI trust the world will call for this work before I die, in order\nthat I may have the pleasure of preparing, or rather directing, its\naccomplishment. If I can procure a copy of the Cyclopedia you write\nabout, I shall be happy to present it to you.[23]\n\n[Footnote 23: The \"Cyclopedia of Pure Christian Theology and Theosophic\nScience,\" is to contain the works of Boehme and his distinguished\nfollowers, Freher, Gechtel, Pordage, Lee, Law, and others. The first\nvolume is already printed for private circulation, and deposited in\nthe chief libraries of Europe and America. It contains six hundred and\neighty-eight closely printed pages, chiefly of exposition and comment\non Boehme, with biographical accounts of Boehmists and of their works\ninterspersed in voluminous notes.]\n\n  \"I am, dear Sir, Yours very truly,\n    \"CHRISTOPHER WALTON.\n\n  \"LONDON, 15th February, 1868.\"\n\n\"The object of these publications,\" says Mr. Walton, in his Prospectus,\n\"and of their distribution in the libraries of Great Britain and the\nUnited States, is to induce and promote in a general manner, the study\nof pure metaphysical science, commencing at its root and ground in\nDeity, thence through all those principles of nature, eternal and\ntemporal, of mind, spirit, and body, which develop and concentre\nthemselves in the form, constitution, and support of man, as such, with\na view to render it subservient to its true end and design, namely, the\nradical purification of theology throughout the earth, and the final\nresolution of it into a fixed and progressive science, and art in its\nkind, as contemplated and provided for by Christianity.\"\n\nFor those interested in the history of Mysticism, \"Vaughan's Hours with\nthe Mystics,\" published in London, 1856, is an interesting volume,\nfull of information communicated by way of conversation, and in an\nattractive style.\n\n\n\n\nCRABBE ROBINSON'S DIARY.\n\n\n  THURSDAY, 19.\n\nCrabbe Robinson's Diary is interesting; all he tells us of Landor,\nWordsworth, Coleridge, is especially so. The book gives, perhaps, the\nbest personal and literary picture of the times in which he lived. Few\nmen had a wider circle of literary acquaintances than the author. His\nbook is a real addition to contemporary literature, and shows the value\nof the Diary for preserving in an attractive form what would otherwise\nhave been lost to the world. Robinson is no Boswell; he knew what to\nomit, what to commit to writing, gave fair transcripts of what he saw,\nwithout prepossession or prejudice.\n\n\nCOLERIDGE.\n\nWhat Robinson tells of Coleridge is especially noticeable.\n\n\"I used,\" he says, \"to compare him as a disputant to a serpent,--easy\nto kill if you assume the offensive; but if you attack him, his bite is\nmortal. Some time after writing this, when I saw Madame De Stael, in\nLondon, I asked her what she thought of him. She replied, 'He is very\ngreat in monologue, but he has no idea of dialogue.'\"\n\nPerhaps not. Yet with his equal, he would not have been found wanting\nin this respect. Less English than German in genius, he would have\nbeen on terms of equality with thinkers of all times. But for his\nintroduction of German ideas into English literature, we had waited\na generation or more. He comprehended and interpreted the ideas and\nmethods of its great thinkers. Better than most, he fulfilled Plato's\ncanon, that \"only the gods discriminate and define.\" I find him the\nmost stimulating of modern British thinkers. He had wider sympathies\nwith pure thought, and cast more piercing glances into its essence and\nlaws than any contemporary.\n\nI must repeat my sense of obligation to him for the quickening\ninfluence which the perusal of his pages always awakens, at every\nparagraph making me his debtor for a thought, an image, which it\nwere worth while to have lived for, so stimulating is his phrase to\nimagination and reason alike; scarcely less to understanding and\nmemory. If his mysticism tinge his speculations with its shifting\nhues, and one threads the labyrinth into which he conducts with wonder\nand amazement, he yet surrenders unreservedly to his guide, sure of\ncoming to the light, with memorable experiences to reward him for the\nadventure.\n\nHis appreciation of the Greek, as of the Teutonic genius, is the more\nremarkable when we consider how rarely his countrymen have comprehended\nforeign ideas; and that Shakespeare even found in him his first\ninterpreter.\n\nIn his Literary Remains, we find these remarkable notes on the Greek\ndrama:--\n\n\"It is truly singular that Plato--whose philosophy and religion were\nboth exotic at home, and a mere opposition to the finite in all\nthings, genuine prophet and anticipator of the protestant era--should\nhave given in his dialogue of the Banquet a justification of our\nShakespeare. For he relates that, when all the other guests had either\ndispersed or fallen asleep, Socrates only, together with Aristophanes\nand Agathon, remained awake; and that, while he continued to drink\nwith them out of a large goblet, he compelled them, though most\nreluctantly, to admit that it was the business of one and the same\ngenius to excel in tragic and comic poetry; or, that the tragic poet\nought, at the same time, to contain within himself the powers of\ncomedy. Now, as this was certainly repugnant to the entire theory\nof the ancient critics, and contrary to all their experience, it is\nevident that Plato must have fixed the eye of his contemplation on the\ninnermost essentials of the drama, abstracted from conditions of age\nand country. In another passage he even adds the reason, namely: that\nopposites illustrate each other's nature, and in their struggle draw\nforth the strength of the combatants, and display the conquered as\nsovereign even in the territories of the rival power.\"\n\nAgain: \"The tragic poet idealizes his characters by giving to the\nspiritual part of our nature a more decided preponderance over animal\ncravings and impulses than is met with in real life; the comic poet\nidealizes his characters by making the animal the governing power,\nand the intellectual the mere instrument. But as tragedy is not a\ncollection of virtues and perfections, but takes care only that the\nvices and imperfections shall spring from the passions, errors, and\nprejudices which arise of the soul; so neither is comedy a mere crowd\nof vices and follies, but whatever qualities it represents, even though\nthey are in a certain sense amiable, it still displays them as having\ntheir origin in some dependence on our lower nature, accompanied with a\ndefect in true freedom of spirit and self-subsistence, and subject to\nthat unconnection by contradiction of inward being, to which all folly\nis owing.\"\n\nColeridge, while writing this masterly analysis of the seats of the\ntragic and comic in man's inner being, and with the text of Plato and\nof Shakespeare before him, must have been contemplating the springs of\nhis own defects, the strength twinned with his weaknesses, which ever\nmade him the helpless demigod he was; aspiring ever, yet drawn downward\nby the leash of his frailties, as tragic a character as any that\nShakespeare himself has drawn.\n\n\n\n\nSELDEN'S TABLE TALK.\n\n\n  TUESDAY, 24.\n\n\"Learned Selden,\" learned in civil and political wisdom as were few of\nhis great contemporaries. If his book of Table Talk has less repute\nthan Bacon's famous Essays, like that, opened anywhere, it displays\nthe author's eminent discretion, his comprehensive understanding,\napposite illustration of his theme. His homely, familiar manner, has\nits attractions as well for the scholar as for the common reader;\npregnant as are his sentences with his great good sense, rare learning,\nbringing abstruse subjects home to the affairs of life in a style at\nonce perspicuous and agreeable. \"He was a person,\" says Lord Clarendon,\n\"whom no character can flatter, or transmit in any expressions equal\nto his merit. He was of such stupendous learning in all kinds of\nlanguages that a man would have thought he had been entirely conversant\namong books, and had never spent an hour but in reading and writing.\nYet his humanity, courtesy, and affability were such, that he would\nhave been thought to have been bred in the best courts, but that his\ngood-nature, charity, and delight in doing good, and in communicating\nall he knew, exceeded his breeding. His style in all his writings seems\nharsh, and sometimes obscure, which is not wholly to be imputed to\nthe abstruse subjects of which he commonly treated, but to a little\nundervaluing of style, and too much propensity to the language of\nantiquity; but in his conversation he was the most clear discourser,\nand had the best faculty of making hard things easy, and of presenting\nthem to the understanding, of any man that hath been known.\"\n\nColeridge, who never let any person of eminence, in thought or\nerudition, escape his attention, says: \"There is more weighty bullion\nsense in this book (The Table Talk) than I ever found in the same\nnumber of pages of any uninspired writer.\"\n\nBen Jonson addressed him thus:--\n\n                  ... \"You that have been\n    Ever at home, yet have all countries seen,\n    And like a compass keeping one foot still\n    Upon your centre, do your circle fill\n    Of general knowledge....\n    I wondered at the richness, but am lost\n    To see the workmanship so excel the cost!\n    To mark the excellent seasoning of your style,\n    And manly elocution! not one while\n    With horror rough, then rioting with wit,\n    But to the subject still the colors fit,\n    In sharpness of all search, wisdom choice,\n    Newness of sense, antiquity of voice!\n    I yield, I yield. The matter of your praise\n    Floods in upon me, and I cannot raise\n    A bank against it; nothing but the round\n    Large clasp of nature such a wit can bound.\"\n\nOne's pen cannot be better drawn across paper, than in transcribing\nsome of his wise and pithy sayings:--\n\n\"_Books._ 'Tis good to have translators, because they serve as a\ncomment, so far as the judgment of the man goes.\"\n\n\"Quoting of authors is most for matter of fact; and then I cite them as\nI would produce a witness, sometimes for a free expression; and then I\ngive the author his due, and gain myself praise for reading him.\"\n\n\"Henry the Eighth made a law that all men might read the Scripture,\nexcept servants; but no woman except ladies and gentlewomen who had\nleisure and might ask somebody the meaning. The law was repealed in\nEdward Sixth's days.\"\n\n\"Laymen have best interpreted the hard places in the Bible, such as\nScaliger, Grotius, Salmasius, etc. The text serves only to guess by; we\nmust satisfy ourselves fully out of the authors that lived about those\ntimes.\"\n\n\"_Ceremony._ Ceremony keeps up all things. 'Tis like a penny glass to a\nrich spirit, or some excellent water; without it the water were spilt,\nthe spirit lost.\"\n\n\"_Damnation._ To preach long, loud, and damnation, is the way to be\ncried up. We love a man that damns us, and we run after him to save us.\"\n\n\"_Friends._ Old friends are best. King James used to call for his old\nshoes, they were easiest to his feet.\"\n\n\"_Language._ Words must be fitted to a man's mouth. 'Twas well said of\nthe fellow that was to make a speech for my Lord Mayor: he desired to\ntake measure of his lordship's mouth.\"\n\n\"_Learning._ No man is wiser for his learning; it may administer matter\nto work in, or objects to work upon; but wit and wisdom are born with a\nman.\"\n\n\"_Power._ Syllables govern the world.\"\n\n\"_Reason._ The reason of a thing is not to be inquired after till you\nare sure the thing itself is so. We commonly are at 'What's the reason\nof it?' before we are sure of the thing. 'Twas an excellent question of\nmy Lady Cotton, when Sir Robert Cotton was magnifying of a shoe which\nwas Moses' or Noah's, and wondering at the strange shape and fashion of\nit,--'But, Mr. Cotton,' says she, 'are you sure it is a shoe?'\"\n\n\"_Religion._ Religion is like the fashion; one man wears his doublet\nslashed, another laced, another plain; but every man has a doublet. So\nevery man has his religion. We differ about trimming.\"\n\n\"We look after religion as the butcher did after his knife, when he had\nit in his mouth.\"\n\n\n\n\nWOMAN.\n\n\n  SUNDAY, 29.\n\n    Ever the feminine fades into mystery,\n    Pales undistinguished into the powers of nature,\n    There working with earnest force in silence,\n    Bashful and beautiful in its reserves.\n\nDivination seems heightened and raised to its highest power in woman,\nlike mercury, the more sensitive to the breath of its atmosphere;--the\nmost delicate metre of character, as if in the finest persons, the sex\npredominated to give the salient graces and gifts peculiar to woman.\nThe difference appears to be of bias, not of positive power, of thought\nand feeling differently disposed, and where the extremes merge towards\nunity, not easily discriminated. Still, each preserves its distinctive\ntraits under all differences, neither being mistaken for the other. A\nwoman's thought is not taken for a man's, nor the contrary; though the\noutward expression were the same, each preserves its sexual tone and\ncolor. Any seeming exceptions are counterfeits, and confirm the law\nthat sentiment is feminine, thought masculine, by whomsoever expressed;\nneither can blend fully and confound the other under any metamorphosis,\nsex being a constant factor individualizing the personality of souls.\nThe ancient philosophers had so good an opinion of the sex, that they\nascribed all sciences to the Muses, all sweetness and morality to the\nGraces, and prophetic inspiration to the Sibyls.\n\nWomen have been subject alike to the admiration and contempt of men. It\nwere handsomer to quote the poet's praises than blame, the Greek poets\n\u00c6schylus, Sophocles, and Euripides especially. I like to enrich my\npages with some of their fine lines, and not less for the new interest\ntaken in the sex.\n\n\n    _\u00c6schylus._\n\n    \"Wedlock is a state preordained of Destiny, and its\n    Obligations are more binding than an oath.\"\n\n    \"Bite thy lips or ever thou speak words of impurity.\"\n\n    \"Can heaven's fair beams show a fond wife a sight\n    More welcome than her husband from his wars\n    Returned with glory, when she opes the gate\n    And springs to welcome him.\"\n\n\n    _Euripides._\n\n    \"Men need not try where women fail.\"\n\n            \"To a father waxing old\n    Nothing is dearer than a daughter; sons\n    Have spirits of a higher pitch, but less inclined\n    To sweet endearing tenderness.\"\n\n            \"Happy is it so to place\n    A daughter; yet it pains a father's heart\n    When he delivers to another's house\n    A child, the object of his tender care.\"\n\n    \"A wise man in his house should find a wife\n    Gentle and courteous, or no wife at all.\"\n\n            \"With silence of the tongue\n    And cheerfulness of look I entertained\n    My husband; where my province to command\n    I knew, and where to yield obedience to him.\"\n\n            \"When the wife endures\n    The ungentle converse of a husband rude\n    In manners, in his person rude, to die\n    Were rather to be wished.\"\n\n    \"If well accorded, the connubial state\n    From all its strings speaks perfect harmony;\n    If ill at home, abroad the harsh notes jar,\n    And with rude discord wound the ear of peace.\"\n\n              \"For women are by nature formed\n    To feel some consolation when their tongue\n    Gives utterance to the afflictions they endure.\"\n\n    \"O trebly blest the placid lot of those,\n    Whose hearth-foundations are in pure love laid,\n    Where husband's breast with tempered ardor glows,\n    And wife, oft mother, is in heart a maid.\"\n\n\n    _Sophocles._\n\n    \"Note well a house that is prosperous among men, and you Will find\n    virtue among its women folk.\"\n\n    \"Seek not thy fellow-citizens to guide\n    Till thou canst order well thine own fireside.\"\n\n\n\n\nSEPTEMBER.\n\n\n                  \"While slowly o'er the hills\n    The unnerved day piles his prodigious sunshine.\n    Here be gardens of Hesperian mould,\n    Recesses rare, temples of birch and fern,\n    Perfumes of light-green sumac, ivy thick,\n    And old stone fences tottering to their fall,\n    And gleaming lakes that cool invite the bath,\n    And most aerial mountains for the West.\"\n      --_Channing._\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nWALDEN POND.\n\n\n  MONDAY, 6.\n\nTo Walden with May, who takes a pencil sketch for her collection.\nThoreau's hermitage has disappeared, and the grounds are overgrown\nwith pines and sumac, leaving the site hardly traceable. The shores of\nWalden are as sylvan as ever near Thoreau's haunt, but have been shorn\nof wood on the southern side. No spot of water in these parts has a\nmore interesting history. It well deserved the poet's praises while\nThoreau dwelt on its shores.\n\n    \"It is not far beyond the village church,\n    After we pass the wood that skirts the road,\n    A lake,--the blue-eyed Walden,--that doth smile\n    Most tenderly upon its neighbor pines,\n    And they as if to recompense this love,\n    In double beauty spread their branches forth.\n    This lake has tranquil loveliness and breadth,\n    And of late years has added to its charms,\n    For one attracted to its pleasant edge\n    Has built himself a little hermitage,\n    Where with much piety he passes life.\n\n    \"More fitting place I cannot fancy now,\n    For such a man to let the line run off\n    The mortal reel, such patience hath the lake,\n    Such gratitude and cheer are in the pines.\n    But more than either lake or forest's depths\n    This man has in himself: a tranquil man,\n    With sunny sides where well the fruit is ripe,\n    Good front, and resolute bearing to this life,\n    And some serener virtues, which control\n    This rich exterior prudence, virtues high,\n    That in the principles of things are set,\n    Great by their nature and consigned to him,\n    Who, like a faithful merchant, does account\n    To God for what he spends, and in what way.\n\n    \"Thrice happy art thou, Walden! in thyself,\n    Such purity is in thy limpid springs;\n    In those green shores which do reflect in thee,\n    And in this man who dwells upon thy edge,\n    A holy man within a hermitage.\n    May all good showers fall gently into thee;\n    May thy surrounding forests long be spared,\n    And may the dweller on thy tranquil shores\n    Here lead a life of deep tranquillity,\n    Pure as thy waters, handsome as thy shores,\n    And with those virtues which are like the stars.\"\n\n\"When I first paddled a boat on Walden,\" wrote Thoreau, \"it was\ncompletely surrounded by thick and lofty pine and oak woods, and in\nsome spots, coves of grape vines had run over the trees and formed\nbowers under which a boat could pass. The hills which form its shore\nare so steep, and the woods on them so high, that as you looked down\nthe pond from the west end, it had the appearance of an amphitheatre.\nFor some kind of sylvan spectacle, I have spent many an hour when I\nwas younger, floating over its surface as the zephyr willed, having\npaddled my boat to the middle, and lying on my back across the seats\nin a summer forenoon, and looking into the sky, dreaming awake until I\nwas aroused by my boat touching the sand, and I arose to see what shore\nmy fates had impelled me to. In these days, when idleness was the most\nattractive and productive industry, many a forenoon have I stolen away,\npreferring to spend thus the most valued part of the day. For I was\nrich, if not in money, in sunny hours and summer days, and spent them\nlavishly. Nor do I regret that I did not waste more of them behind a\ncounter, or in a workshop, or at the teacher's desk, in which last two\nplaces I have spent many of them.\n\n\"I must say that I do not know what made me leave the pond. I left it\nas unaccountably as I went to it. To speak sincerely, I went there\nbecause I had got ready to go. I left it for the same reason.\n\n\"These woods! why do I not feel their being cut more freely? Does\nit not affect me nearly? The axe can deprive me of much. Concord is\nsheared of its pride. I am certain by the loss attached to my native\ntown in consequence, one and a main link is broken. I shall go to\nWalden less frequently.\n\n\"Look out what window I will, my eyes rest in the distance on a\nforest. Is this circumstance of no value? Why such pains in old\ncountries to plant gardens and parks? A certain sample of wild nature,\na certain primitiveness? The towns thus bordered with a fringe and\ntasselled border, each has its preservers. Methinks the town should\nhave more supervisors to control its parks than it has. It concerns us\nall whether these proprietors choose to cut down all the woods this\nwinter or not. I love to look at Ebby Hubbard's oaks and pines on the\nhillside from Brister's Hill, and am thankful that there is one old\nmiser who will not sell or cut his woods, though it is said that they\nare wasting. 'It is an ill wind that blows nobody any good.'\"\n\n\"Walk round Walden Pond these warm winter days. The wood-chopper finds\nthat the wood cuts easier than when it had the frost in it, though it\ndoes not split so readily. Thus every change in the weather has its\ninfluence on him, and is appreciated by him in a peculiar way. The\nwood-cutter and his practices and experiences are more to be attended\nto; his accidents, perhaps, more than any others, should mark the\nepochs in a winter's day. Now that the Indian is gone, he stands\nnearest to nature. Who has written the history of his day? How far\nstill is the writer of books from the man, his old playmate, it may\nbe, who chops in the woods? There are ages between them. Homer refers\nto the progress of the wood-cutter's work to mark the time of day on\nthe plains of Troy. And the inference from such premises commonly is,\nthat he lived in a more primitive state of society than the present.\nBut I think this is a mistake. Like proves like in all ages, and the\nfact that I myself should take pleasure in preferring the simple\nand peaceful labors which are always proceeding; that the contrast\nitself always attracts the civilized poet to what is rudest and most\nprimitive in his contemporaries;--all this rather proves a certain\ninterval between the poet and the wood-chopper, whose labor he refers\nto, than an unusual nearness to him, on the principle that familiarity\nbreeds contempt. Homer is to be subjected to a very different kind\nof criticism from any he has received. That reader who most fully\nappreciates the poet, and derives the greater pleasure from his work,\nlives in circumstances most like those of the poet himself.\n\n\"This afternoon I throw off my outside coat, a mild spring day. I\nmust hie me to the meadows. The air is full of bluebirds. The ground\nis almost entirely bare. The villagers are out in the sun, and every\nman is happy whose work takes him out-of-doors. I go by Sleepy Hollow\ntowards the great fields. I lean over a rail to hear what is in the\nair, liquid with the bluebird's warble. My life partakes of infinity.\nThe air is deep as our natures. Is the drawing in of this vital air\nattended with no more glorious results than I witness? The air is a\nvelvet cushion against which I press my ear. I go forth to make new\ndemands on life. I wish to begin this summer well. To do something\nin it worthy and wise. To transcend my daily routine and that of my\ntownsmen, to have my immortality now,--that it be in the quality of my\ndaily life,--to pay the greatest price, the greatest tax of any man\nin Concord, and enjoy the most! I will give all I am for my nobility.\nI will pay all my days for my success. I pray that the life of this\nspring and summer may be fair in my memory. May I dare as I have never\ndone. May I purify myself anew as with fire and water, soul and body.\nMay my melody not be wanting to the season. May I gird myself to be a\nhunter of the beautiful, that nought escape me. May I attain to a youth\nnever attained. I am eager to report the glory of the universe: may I\nbe worthy to do it; to have got through regarding human values, so as\nnot to be distracted from regarding divine values. It is reasonable\nthat a man should be something worthier at the end of the year than he\nwas at the beginning.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA delightful volume might be compiled from Thoreau's Journals by\nselecting what he wrote at a certain date annually, thus giving a\ncalendar of his thoughts on that day from year to year. Such a book\nwould be instructive in many ways,--to the naturalist, the farmer,\nwoodman, scholar; and as he was wont to weave a sensible moral into his\nwritings, it would prove a suggestive treatise on morals and religion\nalso. Not every preacher takes his text from his time, his own eyes,\nears, and feet, in his sensible, superior manner.\n\n\n\n\nTHE IDEAL CHURCH.\n\n\n  MONDAY, 13.\n\nThe divinity students come according to appointment and pass the day.\nIt is gratifying to be sought by thoughtful young persons, especially\nby young divines, and a hopeful sign when graduates of our schools\nset themselves to examining the foundations of their faith; the\nceilings alike with underpinnings of the world's religious ideas and\ninstitutions, their genesis and history. Plainly, the drift of thinking\nhere in New England, if not elsewhere, is towards a Personal Theism,\ninclusive of the faiths of all races, embodying the substance of their\nSacred Books, with added forms and instrumentalities suited to the\nneeds of our time. The least curious observer (I tell my visitors)\ncannot fail to see that at no previous period in our religious history,\nhad so profound and anxious inquiries been made into the springs and\nfoundations of spiritual truths. The signs of our time indicate that\nwe are on the eve of a recasting of the old forms. Always there had\nbeen two divisions in the theological as in the political and social\nspheres,--the conservative and the radically progressive. This division\nmarks itself at the present, so sweeping is the wave of religious\nspeculation, not only among professed Christians, but among the\nthoughtful outside of churches. Wherever we look, earnest men are\npondering in what manner they can best serve God and man.\n\nLet us discriminate religious truth from mere opinions. The fruit\nof temperament, culture, individuality, these are wont to be local,\nnarrow, exclusive. The planting of a church to which all men can\nsubscribe, demands a common bond of sympathy, the feeling of\nbrotherhood, mutual respect, peculiarities, culture, respect for old\nand young. Such is the bond of union for the New Church. The essence\nof all creeds is God, Personal, Incarnate, without whom a church and\ndivine worship were impossible. Not to enter into the metaphysics of\ncreeds and philosophy of systems, let us sketch an outline of our Ideal\nChurch.\n\nOur forms are of the past, not American. Times modify forms. The\nworld of thought moves fast; what is good for one time may ill suit\nanother. The culture of past ages is stealing into our present thought,\ndeepening, widening it. Sects are provincial, geographical; the coming\nchurch is to speak to every need, every power of humanity. A revelation\nis not a full revelation which fails to touch the whole man, quicken\nall his powers into beauty and strength of exercise.\n\nFirst, of the architecture. Let this represent the essential needs of\nthe soul. Our dwelling-houses best typify the tender domesticities\nof life; let the church edifice embody more of this familiar love.\nIn the ordering of the congregation, let age have precedence; give\nthe front seats to the eldest members; let families sit together, so\nthat the element of family affection be incorporated in the worship.\nAn arrangement of the pews in semicircles will bring all more nearly\nat equal gradation of distance from the speaker, whose position is\nbest slightly elevated above the congregation. Pictures and statues,\nrepresenting to the senses the grand events of the religious history of\nthe past, may be an essential part of the church furniture; the statues\nembodying the great leaders of religious thought of all races. These\nare not many; the world owes its progress to a few persons. The divine\norder gives one typical soul to a race. Let us respect all races and\ncreeds, as well as our own; read and expound their sacred books like\nour Scriptures. Constituting a body of comparative divinity, each is a\ncontribution to the revelation made to mankind from time to time. Could\nany one well remain exclusive or local in his thought from such studies\nand teachings? Christianity, as the religion of the most advanced\nnations, is fast absorbing the beauty, the thought, the truth of other\nreligions, and this fact should find expression also.\n\nLet there be frequent interchange of preachers and teachers, since few\ncan speak freshly to the same congregation for every Sunday in the\nyear; only the freshest thought, the purest sentiments, were their due.\nLet the services be left to the speaker's selection. Let the music be\nset to the best lyrical poetry of all ages, poems sometimes read or\nrecited as part of the services. As for prayer, it may be spoken from\nan overflowing heart, may be silent, or omitted at the option of the\nminister.\n\nLet the children have a larger share in the religious services than\nhitherto; one half of the day be appropriated to them. Who can speak\nto children can address angels; true worship is childlike. \"All\nnations,\" said Luther, \"the Jews especially, school their children\nmore faithfully than Christians. And this is one reason why religion\nis so fallen. For till its hopes of strength and potency are ever\ncommitted to the generation that is coming on to the stage. And if this\nis neglected in its youth, it fares with Christianity as with a garden\nthat is neglected in the spring-time. There is no greater obstacle in\nthe way of piety than neglect in the training of the young. If we would\nreinstate religion in its former glory, we must improve and elevate the\nchildren, as it was done in days of old.\"[24]\n\n[Footnote 24: It appears from \"Letchford's Plain Dealings concerning\nNew England,\" that the church in Concord was the first in the colony\nthat adopted the practice of catechising the children on Sundays. \"The\nunmarried people,\" he says, \"were also required to answer questions,\nafter which Mr. Bulkeley gave expositions and made applications to the\nwhole congregation.\" And this practice soon found its way into all the\nchurches, became a part of the Sunday service in the church, in the\nfamily at last. From these it passed, subsequently, into the schools, a\npart of Saturday forenoon being devoted to recitations, and where the\nparents were of different persuasions, the teachers heard these from\nthe Westminster, or Church of England catechisms, accordingly. Some of\nus remember committing both to memory, and having the benefit of so\nmuch comparative divinity as these furnished at that early age.]\n\n\nCOLLYER.\n\nOur young divines may study Beecher and Collyer, if they will learn\nthe types of preaching which the people most enjoy and flock to hear.\nCollyer, without pretension to eloquence, is most eloquent in his\nplain, homely, human way. He meets his audience as the iron he once\nsmote, and his words have the ring of true steel. He speaks from crown\nto toe, and with a delightful humor that gives his rhetoric almost a\nclassic charm, his Yorkshire accent adding to the humane quality of\nhis thought. There is as little of scholarly pretence as of priestly\nassumption in his address, and he makes his way by his placid strength,\nclear intelligence, breadth of sympathy, putting the rhetoric of the\nschools to the blush.\n\n\nBEECHER.\n\nI once entered Beecher's church with a friend who was not often seen\nin such sanctuaries. Aisles, body, galleries, every slip, every chair,\nall were occupied, many left standing. The praise, the prayer, the\nchristening,--there were a dozen babes presented for baptism,--all\nwere devout, touching, even to tears at times. I know I wept, while my\nfriend was restive, fancying himself, as he declared, in some Pagan\nfane. The services all seemed becoming, however. Here was no realm of\nDrowsy Head. The preaching was the more effective for its playfulness,\npoint, strength, pertinency. Coming from the heart, the doctrine found\nthe hearts of its hearers. The preacher showed his good sense, too, in\nomitting the trite phrases and traditions, speaking straight to his\npoints in plain, homely speech, that carried the moral home to its\nmark. It was refreshing to get a touch of human nature, the preaching\nso often failing in this respect. The speaker took his audience along\nwith him by his impetuosity, force of momentum, his wit playing about\nhis argument, gathering power of persuasion, force of statement as he\npassed. His strong sense, broad humanity, abounding animal spirits,\nhumor, anecdote, perhaps explain the secret of his power and popularity.\n\n\n\n\nIDEALS.\n\n\n  SUNDAY, 19.\n\nOur instincts are idealists. Contradicting impressions of the senses,\nthey prompt us forth to the noblest aims and endeavors. Aspirants\nfor the best, they prick us forward to its attainment, the more\nsuccessfully as our theories of life lift us above the planes of\nprecedent and routine, whereon the senses confine us, to the mount\nof vision and of renovating ideas. Nor are these too lofty or too\nbeautiful to be unattainable. 'Tis when practice strays wide and falls\nbelow that they appear visionary and fall into disrepute. Only those\nwho mount the summits command the valleys at their base.\n\n    \"When we ourselves from our own selves do quit,\n    And each thing else, then an all-spreading love\n    To the vast universe our soul doth fit,\n    Makes us half equal to all-seeing Jove;\n    Our mighty wings, high-stretched, then clapping light,\n    We brush the stars, and make them seem more bright.\"\n\nEnthusiasm is essential to the successful attainment of any high\nendeavor; without which incentive one is not sure of his equality to\nthe humblest undertaking even. And he attempts little worth living\nfor if he expects completing his task in an ordinary life-time.\nHis translation is for the continuance of his work here begun, but\nfor whose completion time and opportunity were all too narrow and\nbrief. Himself is the success or failure. Step by step one climbs\nthe pinnacles of excellence; life itself is but the stretch for that\nmountain of holiness. Opening here with humanity, 'tis the aiming at\ndivinity in ever-ascending circles of aspiration and endeavor. Who\nceases to aspire, dies. Our pursuits are our prayers; our ideals our\ngods. And the more persistent our endeavors to realize these, the less\ndistant they seem. They were not gods could we approach them at once.\nWe were the atheists of our senses without them. All of beauty and of\nbeatitude we conceive and strive for, ourselves are to be sometime.\nMan becomes godlike as he strives for divinity, and divinity ever\nstoops to put on humanity and deify mankind. Character is mythical. The\nexcellent are unapproachable save by like excellence. A person every\nway intelligible falls short of our conception of greatness; he ceases\nto be great in our eyes. God is not God in virtue of attributes, but\nof the mystery surrounding these. Could we see through the cloud that\nenvelopes our apprehensions, he were here, and ourselves apparent in\nhis likeness. \"God,\" says Plato, \"is ineffable, hard to be defined, and\nhaving been discovered, to make fully known.\"\n\n    \"He is above the sphere of our esteem,\n    And is best known in not defining him.\"\n\nAny attempted definition would include whatsoever is embraced within\nour notion of Personality,--would exhaust our knowledge of nature and\nof ourselves. Only as we become One Personally with Him do we know Him\nand partake of his attributes.\n\n\"In the soul of man,\" says Berkeley, \"prior and superior to intellect,\nthere is a somewhat of a higher nature, by virtue of which we are one,\nand by means of which we are most clearly joined to the Deity. And as\nby our intellect we touch the divine intellect, even so by our oneness,\n'the very flower of our essence,' as Proclus expresses it, we touch the\nFirst One. Existence and One are the same. And consequently, our minds\nparticipate so far of existence as they do of unity. But it should\nseem the personality is the indivisible centre of the soul, or mind,\nwhich is a monad, so far forth as she is a person. Therefore Person is\nreally that which exists, inasmuch as it partakes of the divine unity.\nNumber is no object of sense, but an act of the mind. The same thing\nin a different conception is one or many. Comprehending God and the\ncreatures in one general notion, we may say that all things together\nmake one universe. But if we should say that all things make one God,\nthis would indeed be an erroneous notion of God, but would not amount\nto atheism, so long as mind, or intellect, was admitted to be the\ngoverning part. It is, nevertheless, more respectful, and consequently\nthe truer notion of God, to suppose Him neither made up of parts, nor\nhimself to be a part of any whole whatsoever.\"\n\n\n    THE SEARCH AFTER GOD.[25]\n\n    [Footnote 25: By Thomas Heywood, 1590.]\n\n    \"I sought Thee round about, O thou my God!\n        In thine abode,\n    I said unto the earth, 'Speak, art thou He?'\n        She answered me,\n    'I am not.' I inquired of creatures all\n        In general\n    Contained therein; they with one voice proclaim\n    That none amongst them challenged such a name.\n\n    \"I asked the seas and all the deeps below,\n        My God to know;\n    I asked the reptiles and whatever is\n        In the abyss;\n    Even from the shrimp to the leviathan\n        Inquiry ran,--\n    But in those deserts which no line can sound,\n    The God I sought for was not to be found.\n\n    \"I asked the air if that were He? but, lo,\n        It told me, No.\n    I from the towering eagle to the wren\n        Demanded then\n    If any feathered fowl 'mongst them were such?\n        But they all, much\n    Offended with my question, in full choir\n    Answered, 'To find thy God thou must look higher.'\n\n    \"I asked the heavens, sun, moon and stars; but they\n        Said, 'We obey\n    The God thou seek'st.' I asked what eye or ear\n        Could see or hear;\n    What in the world I might descry or know\n        Above, below?\n    With an unanimous voice, all these things said,\n    'We are not God, but we by Him were made.'\n\n    \"I asked the world's great universal mass\n        If that God was?\n    Which with a mighty and strong voice replied\n        As stupefied,\n    'I am not He, O man! for know that I\n        By Him on high\n    Was fashioned first of nothing, thus inflated,\n    And swayed by Him by whom I was created.'\n\n    \"I sought the court, but smooth-tongued flattery there\n        Deceived each ear:\n    In the thronged city there was selling, buying,\n        Swearing and lying,--\n    In the country, craft in simpleness arrayed;\n        And then I said,\n    'Vain is my search, although my pains be great,\n    Where my God is there can be no deceit.'\n\n    \"A scrutiny within myself I then\n        Even thus began:\n    'O man, what art thou?' What more could I say,\n        Than dust and clay?\n    Frail mortal, fading, a mere puff, a blast\n        That cannot last,--\n    Enthroned to-day, to-morrow in an urn,\n    Formed from that earth to which I must return.\n\n    \"I asked myself, what this great God might be\n        That fashioned me?\n    I answered, the all-potent, solely immense,\n        Surpassing sense,\n    Unspeakable, inscrutable, eternal,\n        Lord over all;\n    The only terrible, strong, just and true,\n    Who hath no end, and no beginning knew.\n\n    \"He is the well of life, for He doth give\n        To all that live\n    Both breath and being; he is the Creator\n        Both of the water,\n    Earth, air and fire; of all things that subsist,\n        He hath the list;\n    Of all the heavenly host, or what earth claims,\n    He keeps the scroll, and calls them by their names.\n\n    \"And now, my God, by thine illumining grace,\n        Thy glorious face\n    (So far forth as it may discovered be)\n        Methinks I see;\n    And though invisible and infinite\n        To human sight,\n    Thou in thy mercy, justice, truth, appearest,\n    In which to our weak senses thou com'st nearest.\n\n    \"O, make us apt to seek and quick to find\n        Thou God most kind!\n    Give us love, hope, and faith in thee to trust,\n        Thou God most just!\n    Remit all our offences, we entreat,\n        Most Good, most Great!\n    Grant that our willing, though unworthy quest,\n    May through thy grace admit us 'mongst the blest.\"\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nMESSRS. ROBERTS BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\nTABLETS.\n\nBy A. BRONSON ALCOTT.\n\n_CONTENTS._\n\n  BOOK I.--PRACTICAL.--The Garden. Recreation. Fellowship. Friendship.\n  Culture. Books. Counsels.\n\n  BOOK II.--SPECULATIVE.--Instrumentalities. Mind. Genesis.\n  Metamorphoses.\n\n  \"This book of practical and speculative essays invites us to the\n  sunshine, the delightful atmosphere, 'the cool retreats,' and the\n  quiet of the country.\"--_Cincinnati Chronicle._\n\n  \"Like 'Walden,' it will be bought and read, year by year, by the\n  select few for whom it was written.\"--_Hartford Courant._\n\n  \"This book addresses us in a tone of remarkable serenity and repose,\n  strangely contrasting with the lively bustle of the age and land we\n  live in.\"--_New York Times._\n\n  \"The moral qualities of Mr. Alcott have probably more to do with\n  the secret of his influence than his peculiar mental endowments.\n  Every page of his writings evinces a singularly pure and unworldly\n  character. They appear more like leaves torn from some fragrant\n  antique volume, than the products of this competitive, rapacious age.\n  They transport us to some peaceful island beyond the reach of the\n  ambitions and rivalries of the day. He lives in a serene atmosphere,\n  free from all secular perturbations. No earthly stain discolors the\n  spotless whiteness of his soul. It is no wonder that he is listened\n  to in speechless reverence by an esoteric circle, and that his words\n  are clothed with an authority beyond the power of gaudy rhetoric or\n  purely intellectual demonstration.\"--_New York Tribune._\n\n1 vol. 16mo. Cloth, gilt top, $1.50; with photographic title and\nportrait, $2.00; same, gilt edges, $2.50.\n\n\n_Sold everywhere. Mailed, postpaid, by the Publishers,_\n\nROBERTS BROTHERS, BOSTON.\n\n\n\n\n\"MAKE THEIR ACQUAINTANCE; FOR AMY WILL BE FOUND DELIGHTFUL, BETH VERY\nLOVELY, MEG BEAUTIFUL, AND JO SPLENDID!\"--_The Catholic World._\n\n\nLITTLE WOMEN. By LOUISA M. ALCOTT. In Two Parts. Price of each $1.50.\n\n  \"Simply one of the most charming little books that have fallen\n  into our hands for many a day. There is just enough of sadness in\n  it to make it true to life, while it is so full of honest work and\n  whole-souled fun, paints so lively a picture of a home in which\n  contentment, energy, high spirits, and real goodness make up for the\n  lack of money, that it will do good wherever it finds its way. Few\n  will read it without lasting profit.\"--_Hartford Courant._\n\n  \"LITTLE WOMEN. By Louisa M. Alcott. We regard these volumes as two\n  of the most fascinating that ever came into a household. Old and\n  young read them with the same eagerness. Lifelike in all their\n  delineations of time, place, and character, they are not only\n  intensely interesting, but full of a cheerful morality, that makes\n  them healthy reading for both fireside and the Sunday school. We\n  think we love \"Jo\" a little better than all the rest, her genius is\n  so happy tempered with affection.\"--_The Guiding Star._\n\n  The following verbatim copy of a letter from a \"little woman\" is a\n  specimen of many which enthusiasm for her book has dictated to the\n  author of \"Little Women:\"--\n\n\n  ----March 12, 1870.\n\n  DEAR JO, OR MISS ALCOTT,--We have all been reading \"Little Women,\"\n  and we liked it so much I could not help wanting to write to you. We\n  think _you_ are perfectly splendid; I like you better every time I\n  read it. We were all so disappointed about your not marrying Laurie;\n  I cried over that part,--I could not help it. We all liked Laurie\n  ever so much, and almost killed ourselves laughing over the funny\n  things you and he said.\n\n  We are six sisters and two brothers; and there were so many things in\n  \"Little Women\" that seemed so natural, especially selling the rags.\n\n  Eddie is the oldest; then there is Annie (our Meg), then Nelly\n  (that's me), May and Milly (our Beths), Rosie, Rollie, and dear\n  little Carrie (the baby). Eddie goes away to school, and when he\n  comes home for the holidays we have lots of fun, playing cricket,\n  croquet, base ball, and every thing. If you ever want to play any\n  of those games, just come to our house, and you will find plenty\n  children to play with you.\n\n  If you ever come to ----, I do wish you would come and see us,--we\n  would like it so much.\n\n  I have named my doll after you, and I hope she will try and deserve\n  it.\n\n  I do wish you would send me a picture of you. I hope your health is\n  better, and you are having a nice time.\n\n  If you write to me, please direct ---- Ill. All the children send\n  their love.\n\n  With ever so much love, from your affectionate friend,\n\n  NELLY.\n\n\n_Mailed to any address, postpaid, on receipt of the advertised price._\n\nROBERTS BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, _Boston_\n\n\n\n\nAN OLD-FASHIONED GIRL. BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT. With Illustrations. Price\n$1.50.\n\n  \"Miss Alcott has a faculty of entering into the lives and feelings of\n  children that is conspicuously wanting in most writers who address\n  them; and to this cause, to the consciousness among her readers that\n  they are hearing about people like themselves, instead of abstract\n  qualities labelled with names, the popularity of her books is due.\n  Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy are friends in every nursery and schoolroom,\n  and even in the parlor and office they are not unknown; for a good\n  story is interesting to older folks as well, and Miss Alcott carries\n  on her children to manhood and womanhood, and leaves them only on the\n  wedding-day.\"--_Mrs. Sarah J. Hale in Godey's Ladies' Book._\n\n  \"We are glad to see that Miss Alcott is becoming naturalized among\n  us as a writer, and cannot help congratulating ourselves on having\n  done something to bring about the result. The author of 'Little\n  Women' is so manifestly on the side of all that is 'lovely, pure, and\n  of good report' in the life of women, and writes with such genuine\n  power and humor, and with such a tender charity and sympathy, that\n  we hail her books with no common pleasure. 'An Old-Fashioned Girl'\n  is a protest from the other side of the Atlantic against the manners\n  of the creature which we know on this by the name of 'the Girl of\n  the Period;' but the attack is delivered with delicacy as well as\n  force.\"--_The London Spectator._\n\n  \"A charming little book, brimful of the good qualities of intellect\n  and heart which made 'Little Women' so successful. The 'Old-Fashioned\n  Girl' carries with it a teaching specially needed at the present\n  day, and we are glad to know it is even already a decided and great\n  success.\"--_New York Independent._\n\n  \"Miss Alcott's new story deserves quite as great a success as her\n  famous \"Little Women,\" and we dare say will secure it. She has\n  written a book which child and parent alike ought to read, for it\n  is neither above the comprehension of the one, nor below the taste\n  of the other. Her boys and girls are so fresh, hearty, and natural,\n  the incidents of her story are so true to life, and the tone is so\n  thoroughly healthy, that a chapter of the 'Old-Fashioned Girl' wakes\n  up the unartificial better life within us almost as effectually as an\n  hour spent in the company of good, honest, sprightly children. The\n  Old-Fashioned Girl, Polly Milton, is a delightful creature!\"--_New\n  York Tribune._\n\n  \"Gladly we welcome the 'Old-Fashioned Girl' to heart and home!\n  Joyfully we herald her progress over the land! Hopefully we look\n  forward to the time when our young people, following her example,\n  will also be old-fashioned in purity of heart and simplicity\n  of life, thus brightening like a sunbeam the atmosphere around\n  them.\"--_Providence Journal._\n\n\n_Mailed, postpaid, on receipt of the advertised price, by the\nPublishers_,\n\n  ROBERTS BROTHERS,\n   _Boston_\n\n\n\n\n\"MISS ALCOTT IS REALLY A BENEFACTOR OF HOUSEHOLDS.\"--_H. H._\n\n\nLITTLE MEN: Life at Plumfield with Jo's Boys. By LOUISA M. ALCOTT. With\nIllustrations. Price $1.50.\n\n  \"The gods are to be congratulated upon the success of the Alcott\n  experiment, as well as all childhood, young and old, upon the\n  singular charm of the little men and little women who have run\n  forth from the Alcott cottage, children of a maiden whose genius is\n  beautiful motherhood.\"--_The Examiner._\n\n  \"No true-hearted boy or girl can read this book without deriving\n  benefit from the perusal; nor, for that matter, will it the least\n  injure children of a larger growth to endeavor to profit by the\n  examples of gentleness and honesty set before them in its pages. What\n  a delightful school 'Jo' did keep! Why, it makes us want to live\n  our childhood's days over again, in the hope that we might induce\n  some kind-hearted female to establish just such a school, and might\n  prevail upon our parents to send us, 'because it was cheap.'... We\n  wish the genial authoress a long life in which to enjoy the fruits of\n  her labor, and cordially thank her, in the name of our young people,\n  for her efforts in their behalf.\"--_Waterbury American._\n\n  \"Miss Alcott, whose name has already become a household word among\n  little people, will gain a new hold upon their love and admiration by\n  this little book. It forms a fitting sequel to 'Little Women,' and\n  contains the same elements of popularity.... We expect to see it even\n  more popular than its predecessor, and shall heartily rejoice at the\n  success of an author whose works afford so much hearty and innocent\n  enjoyment to the family circle, and teach such pleasant and wholesome\n  lessons to old and young.\"--_N. Y. Times._\n\n  \"Suggestive, truthful, amusing, and racy, in a certain simplicity of\n  style which very few are capable of producing. It is the history of\n  only six months' school-life of a dozen boys, but is full of variety\n  and vitality, and the having girls with the boys is a charming\n  novelty, too. To be very candid, this book is so thoroughly good that\n  we hope Miss Alcott will give us another in the same genial vein, for\n  she understands children and their ways.\"--_Phil. Press._\n\n  A specimen letter from a little woman to the author of \"Little Men.\"\n\n\n  June 17, 1871.\n\n  DEAR MISS ALCOTT,--We have just finished \"Little Men,\" and like it\n  so much that we thought we would write and ask you to write another\n  book sequel to \"Little Men,\" and have more about Laurie and Amy,\n  as we like them the best. We are the Literary Club, and we got the\n  idea from \"Little Women.\" We have a paper two sheets of foolscap\n  and a half. There are four of us, two cousins and my sister and\n  myself. Our assumed names are: Horace Greeley, President; Susan B.\n  Anthony, Editor; Harriet B. Stowe, Vice-President; and myself, Anna\n  C. Ritchie, Secretary. We call our paper the \"Saturday Night,\" and we\n  all write stories and have reports of sermons and of our meetings,\n  and write about the queens of England. We did not know but you would\n  like to hear this, as the idea sprang from your book; and we thought\n  we would write, as we liked your book so much. And now, if it is not\n  too much to ask of you, I wish you would answer this, as we are very\n  impatient to know if you will write another book; and please answer\n  soon, as Miss Anthony is going away, and she wishes very much to hear\n  from you before she does. If you write, please direct to ---- Street,\n  Brooklyn, N.Y.\n\n  Yours truly,\n  ALICE ----.\n\n\n_Mailed to any address, postpaid, on receipt of the advertised price,\nby the Publishers_,\n\n  ROBERTS BROTHERS, BOSTON\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note\n  -Italic text displayed as _text_.\n  -Silently changed mismatched single/double quotes.\n  -The typesetter varied usage of \"'T is\" and \"'Tis\". I have changed all\n   occurrences to the latter.\n  -The typesetter indicated elliptical breaks between paragraphs and\n   stanzas with a row of dots. I have indicated these with a row of five\n   mid-line dots.\n  -Change the ligature [oe] to \"oe\".\n  -Page 192: For the paragraph starting \"One's foes...\", I moved the\n   final quote to the end of the paragraph. I found this quoted in two\n   other sources: \"An Oracle of our Day,\" _The Century: A Popular\n   Quarterly,_ Vol. 5, 1873, p. 517, and Franklin Benjamin Sandborn and\n   William Torrey Harris, _A. Bronson Alcott: His Life and Philosophy_,\n   Vol. 2, 1893, p. 411.\n  -Spelling and word usage retained as they appear in the original\n   publication, except as follows:\n\n   PAGE    FROM                        TO\n     v     Crashaws's Ideal Woman      Crashaw's Ideal Woman\n    67     winters' prime              winter's prime\n   136     he is an antedote           he is an antidote\n   144     metaphysical renasissance   metaphysical renaissance\n   153     system and termology        system and terminology\n   163     commending absoluteism      commending absolutism\n   164     conspire in the fulfiment   conspire in the fulfilment\n   184     indigo, vermillion          indigo, vermilion\n   190     she becomes petulent        she becomes petulant\n   203     returning to consciousnsss  returning to consciousness\n   238     revelations and arcanas     revelations and arcana","title":"Concord Days","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":65356}