’As I was steeped in the divine tenth book of the Republic, came ——­’s letter, in which he so insultingly retracts his engagements.  I finished the book obstinately, but could get little good of it; then went to ask comfort of the descending sun in the woods and fields.  What a comment it was on the disparity between my pursuits and my situation to receive such a letter while reading that book!  However, I will not let life’s mean perplexities blur from my eye the page of Plato; nor, if natural tears must be dropt, murmur at a lot, which, with all its bitterness, has given time and opportunity to cherish an even passionate love for Truth and Beauty.’

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’Black Friday it has been, and my heart is well nigh wearied out.  Shall I never be able to act and live with persons of views high as my own? or, at least, with some steadiness of feeling for me to calculate upon?  Ah, me! what woes within and without; what assaults of folly; what mean distresses; and, oh, what wounds from cherished hands!  Were ye the persons who should stab thus?  Had I, too, the Roman right to fold my robe about me decently, and breathe the last sigh!  The last!  Horrible, indeed, should sobs, deep as these, be drawn to all eternity.  But no; life could not hold out for more than one lease of sorrow.  This anguish, however, will be wearied out, as I know by experience, alas! of how many such hours.’

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’I am reminded to-day of the autumn hours at Jamaica Plain, where, after arranging everything for others that they wanted of me, I found myself, at last, alone in my still home, where everything, for once, reflected my feelings.  It was so still, the air seemed full of spirits.  How happy I was! with what sweet and solemn happiness!  All things had tended to a crisis in me, and I was in a higher state, mentally and spiritually, than I ever was before or shall be again, till death shall introduce me to a new sphere.  I purposed to spend the winter in study and self-collection, and to write constantly.  I thought I should thus be induced to embody in beautiful forms all that lay in my mind, and that life would ripen into genius.  But a very little while these fair hopes bloomed; and, since I was checked then, I do never expect to blossom forth on earth, and all postponements come naturally.  At that time it seemed as if angels left me.  Yet, now, I think they still are near.  Renunciation appears to be entire, and I quite content; yet, probably, ’t is no such thing, and that work is to be done over and over again.’

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