eems the duty that
name imposes! Were but the harmony preserved throughout! Could
the child keep learning his earthly, as he does his heavenly
Father, from all best experience of life, till at last it were
the climax: "I am the Father. Have ye seen me?--ye have seen
the Father." But how many sons have we to make one father?
Surely, to spirits, not only purified but perfected, this
must appear the climax of earthly being,--a wise and worthy
parentage. Here I always sympathize with Mr. Alcott. He views
the relation truly.'

* * * * *

'_Dec. 3, 1840._ ---- bids me regard her "as a sick child;"
and the words recall some of the sweetest hours of existence.
My brother Edward was born on my birth-day, and they said he
should be my child. But he sickened and died just as the bud
of his existence showed its first bright hues. He was some
weeks wasting away, and I took care of him always half the
night. He was a beautiful child, and became very dear to me
then. Still in lonely woods the upturned violets show me the
pleading softness of his large blue eyes, in those hours when
I would have given worlds to prevent his suffering, and
could not. I used to carry him about in my arms for hours; it
soothed him, and I loved to feel his gentle weight of helpless
purity upon my heart, while night listened around. At last,
when death came, and the soul took wing like an overtasked
bird from his sweet form, I felt what I feel now. Might I free
----, as that angel freed him!

'In daily life I could never hope to be an unfailing fountain
of energy and bounteous love. My health is frail; my earthly
life is shrunk to a scanty rill; I am little better than an
aspiration, which the ages will reward, by empowering me to
incessant acts of vigorous beauty. But now it is well with me
to be with those who do not suffer overmuch to have me suffer.
It is best for me to serve where I can better bear to fall
short. I could visit ---- more nobly than in daily life,
through the soul of our souls. When she named me her
Priestess, that name made me perfectly happy. Long has been my
consecration; may I not meet those I hold dear at the altar?
How would I pile up the votive offerings, and crowd the fires
with incense? Life might be full and fair; for, in my own way,
I cou