I feel very differently about these foreigners from Americans; American men and women are inexcusable if they do not bring up children so as to be fit for vicissitudes; that is the meaning of our star, that here all men being free and equal, all should be fitted for freedom and an independence by his own resources wherever the changeful wave of our mighty stream may take him.  But the star of Europe brought a different horoscope, and to mix destinies breaks the thread of both.  The Arabian horse will not plough well, nor can the plough-horse be rode to play the jereed.  But a man is a man wherever he goes, and something precious cannot fail to be gained by one who knows how to abide by a resolution of any kind, and pay the cost without a murmur.

Returning, the fine carriage at last fulfilled its threat of breaking down.  We took refuge in a farm house.  Here was a pleasant scene.  A rich and beautiful estate, several happy families, who had removed together, and formed a natural community, ready to help and enliven one another.  They were farmers at home, in western New York, and both men and women knew how to work.  Yet even here the women did not like the change, but they were willing, “as it might be best for the young folks.”  Their hospitality was great, the housefull of women and pretty children seemed all of one mind.

Returning to Milwaukie much fatigued, I entertained myself for a day or two with reading.  The book I had brought with me was in strong contrast with the life around me.  Very strange was this vision of an exalted and sensitive existence, which seemed to invade the next sphere, in contrast with the spontaneous, instinctive life, so healthy and so near the ground I had been surveying.  This was the German book entitled: 

Die Scherin von Prevorst.—­Eroeffnungen ueber das innere Leben des Menschen und ueber das hereinragen einer Geisterwelt in die unsere.  Mitgetheilt von Justinus Kerner.

The Seeress of Prevorst.—­Revelations concerning the inward life of man, and the projection of a world of spirits into ours, communicated by Justinus Kerner.

This book, published in Germany some twelve years since, and which called forth there plenteous dews of admiration, as plenteous hail-storms of jeers and scorns, I never saw mentioned till some year or two since, in any English publication.  Then a playful, but not sarcastic account of it, in the Dublin Magazine, so far excited my curiosity that I procured the book intending to read it so soon as I should have some leisure days, such as this journey has afforded.

Dr. Kerner, its author, is a man of distinction in his native land, both as a physician and a thinker, though always on the side of reverence, marvel, and mysticism.  He was known to me only through two or three little poems of his in Catholic legends, which I much admired for the fine sense they showed of the beauty of symbols.