nature, and believe a wise acknowledgment of them one of the best conditions of progress.  Yet every noble scheme, every poetic manifestation, prophesies to man his eventual destiny.  And were not man ever more sanguine than facts at the moment justify, he would remain torpid, or be sunk in sensuality.  It is on this ground that I sympathize with what is called the “Transcendental party,” and that I feel their aim to be the true one.  They acknowledge in the nature of man an arbiter for his deeds,—­a standard transcending sense and time,—­and are, in my view, the true utilitarians.  They are but at the beginning of their course, and will, I hope, learn how to make use of the past, as well as to aspire for the future, and to be true in the present moment.

’My position as a woman, and the many private duties which have filled my life, have prevented my thinking deeply on several of the great subjects which these friends have at heart.  I suppose, if ever I become capable of judging, I shall differ from most of them on important points.  But I am not afraid to trust any who ’are true, and in intent noble, with their own course, nor to aid in enabling them to express their thoughts, whether I coincide with them or not.

’On the subject of Christianity, my mind is clear.  If Divine, it will stand the test of any comparison.  I believe the reason it has so imperfectly answered to the aspirations of its Founder is, that men have received it on external grounds.  I believe that a religion, thus received, may give the life an external decorum, but will never open the fountains of holiness in the soul.

’One often thinks of Hamlet as the true representative of idealism in its excess.  Yet if, in his short life, man be liable to some excess, should we not rather prefer to have the will palsied like Hamlet, by a deep-searching tendency and desire for poetic perfection, than to have it enlightened by worldly sagacity, as in the case of Julius Caesar, or made intense by pride alone, as in that of Coriolanus?

’After all, I believe it is absurd to attempt to speak on these subjects within the limits of a letter.  I will try to say what I mean in print some day.  Yet one word as to “the material,” in man.  Is it not the object of all philosophy, as well as of religion and poetry, to prevent its prevalence?  Must not those who see most truly be ever making statements of the truth to combat this sluggishness, or worldliness?  What else are sages, poets, preachers, born to do?  Men go an undulating course,—­sometimes on the hill, sometimes in the valley.  But he only is in the right who in the valley forgets not the hill-prospect, and knows in darkness that the sun will rise again.  That is the real life which is subordinated to, not merged in, the ideal; he is only wise who can bring the lowest act of his life into sympathy with its highest thought.  And this I take to be the one only aim of our pilgrimage here.  I agree with those who think that no true philosophy will try to ignore or annihilate the material part of man, but will rather seek to put it in its place, as servant and minister to the soul.’

VI.