ed goal is
forgotten in the rich present. Yet I think I am learning how
to use life more wisely.'

* * * * *

'Forgive me, beautiful ones, who earlier learned the harmony
of your beings,--with whom eye, voice, and hand are already
true to the soul! Forgive me still some "lispings and
stammerings of the passionate age." Teach me,--me, also,--to
utter my paean in its full sweetness. These long lines are
radii from one centre; aid me to fill the circumference. Then
each moment, each act, shall be true. The pupil has found the
carbuncle,[B] but knows not yet how to use it day by day. But
"though his companions wondered at the pupil, the master loved
him." He loves me, my friends. Do ye trust me. Wash the tears
and black stains from the records of my life by the benignity
of a true glance; make each discord harmony, by striking
again the key-note; forget the imperfect interviews, burn the
imperfect letters, till at last the full song bursts forth,
the key-stone is given from heaven to the arch, the past is
all pardoned and atoned for, and we live forever in the Now.'
* *

* * * * *

'Henceforth I hope I shall not write letters thus full of
childish feeling; for in feeling I am indeed a child, and the
least of children. Soon I must return into the Intellect, for
_there_ in sight, at least, I am a man, and could write the
words very calmly and in steadfast flow. But, lately, the
intellect has been so subordinated to the soul, that I am
not free to enter the Basilikon, and plead and hear till I am
called. But let me not stay too long in this Sicilian valley,
gathering my flowers, for "night cometh."'

* * * * *

'The other evening, while hearing the Creation, in the music
of "There shoots the healing plant," I felt what I would ever
feel for suffering souls. Somewhere in nature is the Moly, the
Nepenthe, desired from the earliest ages of mankind. No wonder
the music dwelt so exultingly on the passage:--

"In native worth and honor clad."

Yes; even so would I ever see man. I will wait, and never
despair, through all the dull years.'

* * * * *

'I am "too fiery." Even so. Ceres put her foster child in the
fire because she loved him. If they