of the seemingly conquered
ocean. The man who clears the barnacles from the keel is more
essential than he who hoists the pennant on the lofty mast.'

* * * * *

'A week of more suffering than I have had for a long
time,--from Sunday to Sunday,--headache night and day! And not
only there has been no respite, but it has been fixed in one
spot--between the eyebrows!--what does that promise?--till it
grew real torture. Then it has been depressing to be able to
do so little, when there was so much I had at heart to do.
It seems that the black and white guardians, depicted on the
Etrurian monuments, and in many a legend, are always fighting
for my life. Whenever I have any cherished purpose, either
outward obstacles swarm around, which the hand that would be
drawing beautiful lines must be always busy in brushing away,
or comes this great vulture, and fastens his iron talons on
the brain.

'But at such times the soul rises up, like some fair child in
whom sleep has been mistaken for death, a living flower in
the dark tomb. He casts aside his shrouds and bands, rosy and
fresh from the long trance, undismayed, not seeing how to get
out, yet sure there is a way.

'I think the black jailer laughs now, hoping that while I
want to show that Woman can have the free, full action of
intellect, he will prove in my own self that she has not
physical force to bear it. Indeed, I am too poor an example,
and do wish I was bodily strong and fair. Yet, I will not be
turned from the deeper convictions.'

'Driven from home to home, as a Renouncer, I gain the poetry
of each. Keys of gold, silver, iron, lead, are in my casket.
Though no one loves me as I would be loved, I yet love many
well enough to see into their eventual beauty. Meanwhile, I
have no fetters, and when one perceives how others are bound
in false relations, this surely should be regarded as a
privilege. And so varied have been my sympathies, that this
isolation will not, I trust, make me cold, ignorant, nor
partial. My history presents much superficial, temporary
tragedy. The Woman in me kneels and weeps in tender rapture;
the Man in me rushes forth, but only to be baffled. Yet the
time will come, when, from the union of this tragic king and
queen, shall be born a radiant sovereign self