not the roots of the most positive morals lie hidden beneath some kind of mystic unconsciousness?  Our most beautiful thought does no more than pass through our intelligence; and none would imagine that the harvest must have been reaped in the road because it is seen passing by.  When reason, however precise, sets forth to explore her domain, every step that she takes is over the border.  And yet is it the intellect that lends the first touches of beauty to thought; the rest lies not wholly with us; but this rest will not stir into motion until intellect touches the spring.  Reason, the well-beloved daughter of intellect, must go take her stand on the threshold of our spiritual life, having first flung open the gates of the prison beneath, where the living, instinctive forces of being lie captive, asleep.  She must wait, with the lamp in her hand; and her presence alone shall suffice to ward off from the threshold all that does not yet conform with the nature of light.  Beyond, in the regions unlit by her rays, obscure life continues.  This troubles her not; indeed, she is glad. ...  She knows that, in the eyes of the God she desires all that has not yet crossed her arcade of light—­be it dream, be it thought, even act—­can add nothing to, can take nothing from, the ideal creature she is craving to mould.  She watches the flame of her lamp; needs must it burn brightly, and remain at its post, and be seen from afar.  She listens, untroubled, to the murmur of inferior instincts out there in the darkness.  But the prisoners slowly awake; there are some who draw nigh to the threshold, and their radiance is greater than hers.  There flows from them a light less material, softer and purer than that of the bold, hard flame which her hand protects.  They are the inscrutable powers of goodness and love; and others follow behind, more mysterious still, and more infinite, seeking admission.  What shall she do?  If, at the time that she took her stand there on the threshold, she had still lacked the courage to learn that she could not exist alone, then will she be troubled, afraid; she will make fast the gates; and should these be ever reopened, she would find only quivering cinders at the foot of the gloomy stairs.  But if her strength be unshaken; if from all that she could not learn she has learned, at least, that in light there can never be danger, and that reason itself may be freely staked where greater brightness prevails—­then shall ineffable changes take place on the threshold, from lamp unto lamp.  Drops of an unknown oil will blend with the oil of the wisdom of man; and when the white strangers have passed, the flame of her lamp shall rise higher, transformed for all time; shall shed purer and mightier radiance amidst the columns of the loftier doorway.