’I am in danger of giving myself up to experiences till they so steep me in ideal passion that the desired 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 thought so before, will they not far more now?  Yet I wish to be seen as I am, and would lose all rather than soften away anything.  Let my friends be patient and gentle, and teach me to be so.  I never promised any one patience or gentleness, for those beautiful traits are not natural to me; but I would learn them.  Can I not?’

* * * * *