htway to the gods distributes honors,
Some to one and to another some, and arranged
The government; but of unhappy mortals account
Had none; but blotting out the race
Entire, wished to create another new.
And these things none opposed but I,
But I adventured; I rescued mortals
From going destroyed to Hades.
Therefore indeed with such afflictions am I bent,
To suffer grievous, and piteous to behold,
And holding mortals up to pity, myself am not
Thought worthy to obtain it; but without pity
Am I thus corrected, a spectacle inglorious to Zeus.
CA. Of iron heart and made of stone,
Whoe'er, Prometheus, with thy sufferings
Does not grieve; for I should not have wished to see
These things, and having seen them I am grieved at heart.
Pr. Indeed to friends I'm piteous to behold.
Ch. Did you in no respect go beyond this ?
Pr. True, mortals I made cease foreseeing fate.
Ch. Having found what remedy for this ail?
PR. Blind hopes in them I made to dwell.


1843.]
369
Prometheus Bound.
CA. A great advantage this you gave to men.
Pr. Beside these, too, I bestowed on them fire.
Ch. And have mortals flamy fire ?
PR. From which indeed they will learn many arts.
Ch. Upon such charges then does Zeus
Maltreat you, and nowhere relax from ills ?
Is there no term of suffering lying before thee?
Pr. Nay, none at all, but when to him it may seem good.
Ch. And how will it seem good? What hope ? See you not that
You have erred? But how you've erred, for me to tell
Not pleasant, and to you a pain. But these things
Let us omit, and seek you some release from sufferings.
PR. Easy, whoever out of trouble holds his
Foot, to admonish and remind those faring
III. But all these things I knew,
Willing, willing I erred, I'll not deny ;
Mortals assisting I myself found trouble.
Not indeed with penalties like these thought I
That I should pine on lofty rocks,
Gaining this drear unneighbored hill.
But bewail not my present woes,
But alighting, the fortunes creeping on
Hear ye, that ye may learn all to the end.
Obey me, obey, sympathize
With him now suffering. Thus indeed affliction
Wandering round, sits now by one, then by another.
CA. Not to unwilling ears do you urge
This, Prometheus.
And now with light foot the swift-rushing
Seat leaving, and the pure ether,
Path of birds, to this peaked
Ground I come; for thy misfortunes
I wish fully to hear.
PROMETHEUS, CHORUS, and OCEANUS.
Oc. I come to the end of a long way
Travelling to thee, Prometheus,
By my will without bits directing
This wing-swift bird;
For at thy fortunes know I grieve.
And, I think, affinity thus
Impels me, but apart from birth,
There's not to whom a higher rank
I would assign than thee.
And you will know these things as true, and not in vain
To flatter with the tongue is in me. Come, therefore,
Show how it is necessary to assist you;
VOL. III. — NO. III.
47


370
Jan.
Prometheus Bound.
For never will you say, than Ocean
There's a firmer friend to thee.
Pr. Alas! what now? And you then of my sufferings
Come spectator ? How didst thou dare, leaving
The stream which bears thy name, and rock-roofed
Caves self-built, to the iron-mother
Earth to go? To behold my fate
Hast come, and to compassionate my ills ?
Behold a spectacle, this, the friend of Zeus,
Having with him stablished his tyranny,
With what afflictions by himself I'm bent.
Oc. I see, Prometheus, and would admonish
Thee the best, although of varied craft.
Know thyself, and fit thy manners
New ; for new also the king among the gods.
But if thus rude and whetted words
Thou wilt hurl out, quickly may Zeus, though sitting
Far above, hear thee, so that thy present wrath
Of troubles child's play will seem to be.
But, O wretched one, dismiss the indignation which thou hast,
And seek deliverance from these woes.
Like an old man, perhaps, I seem to thee to say these things;
Such, however, are the wages
Of the too lofty speaking tongue, Prometheus,
But thou art not yet humble, nor dost yield to ills,
And beside the present wish to receive others still.
But thou wouldst not, with my counsel,
Against the pricks extend your limbs, seeing that
A stern monarch, irresponsible reigns.
And now I go, and will endeavor,
If I can, to release thee from these sufferings.
But be thou quiet, nor too rudely speak.
Knows't thou not well, with thy superior wisdom, that
On a vain tongue punishment is inflicted ?
PR. I congratulate thee that thou art without blame,
Having shared and dared all with me,
And now leave off, and let it not concern thee.
For altogether thou wilt not persuade him, for he's not easily
persuaded,
But take heed yourself lest you be injured by the way.
Far better thou art to advise those near
Than thyself; by deed and not by word I judge.
But me hastening by no means mayest thou detain,
For I boast, I boast, this favor will Zeus
Grant me, from these sufferings to release thee.
PR. So far I praise thee, and will never cease;
For zeal you nothing lack. But
Strive not; for in vain, nought helping
Me, thou 'lt strive, if aught to strive you wish.
But be thou quiet, holding thyself aloof,


1843.]
371
Prometheus Bound.
For I would not, though I'm unfortunate, that on this ac-
count
Evils should come to many.
Oc. Surely not, for me too the fortunes of thy brother
Atlas grieve, who towards the evening-places
Stands, the pillar of heaven and earth
Upon his shoulders bearing, a load not easy to be borne.
And the earth-born inhabitant of the Cilician
Caves, seeing, I pitied, the savage monster
With a hundred heads, by force o'ercome,
Typhon impetuous, who stood 'gainst all the gods,
With frightful jaws hissing out slaughter;
And from his eyes flashed a gorgonian light,
Utterly to destroy by force the sovereignty of Zeus;
But there came to him Zeus' sleepless bolt,
Descending thunder, breathing flame,
Which struck him out from lofty
Boastings. For struck to his very heart,
His strength was scorched and thundered out.
And now a useless and extended carcass
Lies he near a narrow passage of the sea,
Pressed down under the roots of Ætna.
And on the topmost summit seated, Hephaistus
Hammers the ignited mass, whence will burst out at length
Rivers of fire, devouring with wild jaws
Fair-fruited Sicily's smooth fields;
Such rage will Typhon make boil over
With hot discharges of insatiable fire-breathing tempest,
Though by the bolt of Zeus burnt to a coal.
PR. Thou art not inexperienced, nor dost want
My counsel ; secure thyself as thou know'st how;
And I against the present fortune will bear up,
Until the thought of Zeus may cease from wrath.
Oc. Know'st thou not this, Prometheus, that
Words are healers of distempered wrath?
PR. If any seasonably soothe the heart,
And swelling passion check not rudely.
Oc. In the consulting and the daring
What harm seest thou existing? Teach me.
PR. Trouble superfluous, and light-minded folly.
Oc. Be this my ail then, since it is
Most profitable being wise not to seem wise.
Pr. This will seem to be my error.
Oc. Plainly homeward thy words remand me.
Pr. Aye, let not grief for me into hostility cast thee
Oc. To the new occupant of the all-powerful seats?


372
[Jan.
Prometheus Bound.
PR. Beware lest ever his heart be angered.
Oc. Thy fate, Prometheus, is my teacher.
PR. Go thou, depart, preserve the present mind.
Oc. To me rushing this word you utter.
For the smooth path of the air sweeps with his wings
The four-legged bird ; and gladly would
In the stalls at home bend a knee.
PROMETHEUS and CHORUS.
Ca. I mourn for thee thy ruinous
Fate, Prometheus,
And tear-distilling from my tender
Eyes a stream has wet
My cheeks with flowing springs ;
For these, unenvied, Zeus
By his own laws enforcing,
Haughty above the gods
That were displays his sceptre.
And every region now
With groans resounds,
Mourning the illustrious
And ancient honor
Of thee and of thy kindred;
As many mortals as the habitable seat
With thy lamentable
Woes have sympathy.
And of the Colchian land, virgin
Inhabitants, in fight nndaunted,
And Scythia's multitude, who the last
Place of earth, about
Mæotis lake possess,
And Arabia's martial flower,
And who the high-hung citadels
Of Caucasus inhabit near,
A hostile army, raging
With sharp-prowed spears.
Only one other god before, in sufferings
Subdued by injuries
Of adamantine bonds, I've seen, Titanian
Atlas, who always with superior strength
The huge and heavenly globe
On his back bears ;
And with a roar the sea waves
And the dark depth of Hades murmurs underneath
The earth, and fountains of pure-running rivers
Heave a pitying sigh.
Pr. Think not indeed through weakness or through pride
That I am silent; for with the consciousness I gnaw my heart,
Seeing myself thus basely used.


1813.)
373
Prometheus Bound.
And yet to these new gods their shares
Who else than I wholly distributed ?
But of these things I am silent; for I should tell you
What you know; the sufferings of mortals too
You've heard, how I made intelligent
And possessed of sense them ignorant before.
But I will speak, not bearing any grudge to men,
But showing in what I gave the good intention;
At first, indeed, seeing they saw in vain,
And hearing heard not; but like the forms
Of dreams, for that long time, rashly confounded
All, nor brick-woven dwellings
Knew they, placed in the sun, nor wood-work;
But digging down they dwelt, like puny
Ants, in sunless nooks of caves.
And there was nought to them, neither of winter sign,
Nor of flower-giving spring, nor fruitful
Suminer, that was sure; but without knowledge
Did they all, till I taught them the risings
Of the stars, and goings down, hard to determine.
And numbers, chief of inventions,
I found out for them, and the assemblages of letters,
And memory, Muse-mother, doer of all things,
And first I joined in pairs wild animals
Obedient to the yoke; and that they might be
Alternate workers with the bodies of men
In the severest toils, has harnessed the rein-loving horses
To the car, the ornament of over-wealthy luxury.
And none else than I invented the sea-wandering
Flaxen-winged vehicles of sailors.
Such inventions I wretched having found out
For men, myself have not the ingenuity by which
From the now present ill I may escape.
Ch. You suffer unseemly ill, deranged in mind
You err; and as some bad physician, falling
Sick you are dejected, and cannot find
By what remedies you may be healed.
Pn, Hearing the rest from me more will you wonder,
What arts and what expedients I planned.
That which was greatest, if any might fall sick,
There was alleviation none, neither to eat,
Nor to anoint, nor drink, but for the want
Of medicines they were reduced to skeletons, till to them
I showed the mingling of mild remedies,
By which all ails they drive away,
And many modes of prophecy I settled,
And distinguished first of dreams what a real
Vision is required to be, and omens hard to be determined
I made known to them; and tokens by the way,
And flight of crooked-taloned birds I accurately
Defined, which lucky are,
And unlucky, and what mode of life


374
Jan.
Prometheus Bound.
Have each, and to one another what
Hostilities, attachments, and assemblings;
The entrails' smoothness, and what color having
They would be to the divinities acceptable,
Of the gall and liver the various symmetry,
And the limbs concealed in fat; and the long
Flank burning, to an art hard to be guessed
I showed the way to mortals; and flammeous signs
Explained, before obscure.
Such indeed these; and under ground
Concealed the helps to men,
Brass, iron, silver, gold, who
Would affirm that he discovered before me?
None, I well know, not wishing in vain to boast..
But learn all in one word,
Al arts from mortals to Prometheus.
Ch. Assist not mortals now unseasonably,
And neglect yourself unfortunate; for I
Released, you will yet have no less power than Zeus.
PR. Never thus has Fate the Accomplisher
Decreed to fulfil these things, but by a myriad ills
And woes subdued, thus bonds I flee;
For art's far weaker than necessity.
CH. Who then is helmsman of necessity?
Pr. The Fates three-formed, and the remembering Furies.
Co. Than these then is Zeus weaker ?
Pr. Aye, he could not escape what has been fated.
Ch. But what to Zeus is fated, except always to rule ?
Pr. This thou wilt not learn ; seek not to know.
CH. Surely some awful thing it is which you withhold.
PR. Remember other words, for this by no means
Is it time to tell, but to be concealed
As much as possible; for keeping this do I
Escape unseemly bonds and woes.
CH. Never may the all-ruling
Zeus put into my mind
Force antagonist to him.
Nor let me cease drawing near
The gods with holy sacrifices
Of slain oxen, by Father Ocean's
Ceaseless passage,
Nor offend with words,
But in me this remian,
And ne'er be melted out.
"T is something sweet with bold


1843.]
375
Prometheus Bound.
Hopes the long life to
Extend, in bright
Cheerfulness the cherishing spirit.
But I shudder, thee beholding
By a myriad sufferings tormented. * * *
For not fearing Zeus,
In thy private mind thou dost regard
Mortals too much, Prometheus.
Come, though a thankless
Favor, friend, say where is any strength,
From ephemerals any help? Saw you not
The powerless inefficiency,
Dream-like, in which the blind # # *
Race of mortals are entangled ?
Never counsels of mortals
May transgress the harmony of Zeus.
I learned these things looking on
Thy destructive fate, Prometheus.
For different to me did this strain come,
And that which round thy baths
And couch I hymned,
With the design of marriage, when my father's child
With bridal gifts persuading, thou didst lead
Hesione the partner of thy bed.
PROMETHEUS, Chorus, and. Io.
Io. What earth, what race, what being shall I say is this
I see in bridles of rock
Exposed ? By what crime's
Penalty dost thou perish? Show, to wbat part
Of earth I miserable have wandered.
Ah! ah! alas ! alas!
Again some fly doth sting me wretched,
Image of earth-born Argus, cover it earth;
I fear the myriad-eyed herdsman beholding;
For he goes having a treacherous eye,
Whom not een dead the earth conceals.
But me, wretched from the Infernals passing,
He pursues, and drives fasting along the sea-side
Sand, while low resounds a wax-compacted reed,
Uttering sleep-giving law; alas! alas! O gods!
Where, gods! where lead me far-wandering courses ?
In what sin, O son of Kronos,
In what sin ever having taken,
To these afflictions hast thou yoked me? alas! alas!
With fly-driven fear a wretched
Phrenzied one dost thus afflict?
With fire burn, or with earth cover, or
To sea monsters give for food, nor
Envy me my prayers, king.
Enough much-wandered wanderings


376
[Jan.
Prometheus Bound.
Have exercised me, nor can I learn where
I shall escape from sufferings.
Ch. Hearst thou the address of the cow-horned virgin?
Pr, And how not hear the fly-whirled virgin,
Daughter of Inachus, who Zeus' heart warmed
With love, and now the courses over long,
By Here hated, forcedly performs ?
Io. Whence utterest thou my father's name,
Tell me, miserable, who thou art,
That to me, O suffering one, me born to suffer,
Thus true things dost address ?
The god-sent ail thou 'st named,
Which wastes me stinging
With maddening goads, alas ! alas!
With foodless and unseemly leaps
Rushing headlong, I came,
By wrathful plots subdued.
Who of the wretched, who, alas ! alas ! suffers like me?
But to me clearly show
What me awaits to suffer,
What not necessary; what remedy of ill,
Teach, if indeed thou know'st, speak out,
Tell the ill-wandering virgin.
PR. I'll clearly tell thee all you wish to learn.
Not weaving in enigmas, but in simple speech,
. As it is just to open the mouth to friends.
Thou seest the giver of fire to men, Prometheus.
Io. O thou who didst appear a common help to mortals,
Wretched Prometheus, to atone for what do you endure this?
PR. I have scarce ceased my sufferings lamenting.
Io. Would you not grant this favor to me? .
Pr. Say what you ask; for you 'd learn all from me.
Io. Say who has bound thee to the cliff.
Pr. The will indeed of Zeus, Hephaistus' hand.
Io. And penalty for what crimes dost thou pay ?
PR. Thus much only can I show thee.
Io. But beside this, declare what time will be
To me unfortunate the limit of my wandering.
PR. Not to learn is better for thee than to learn these things.
Io. Conceal not from me what I am to suffer.
Pr. Indeed, I grudge thee not this favor.
Io. Why then dost thou delay to tell the whole ?


1843.]
377
Prometheus Bound.
Pr. There's no unwillingness, but I hesitate to vex thy mind.
Io. Care not for me more than is pleasant to me.
Pr. Since you are earnest, it behoves to speak; hear then.
Ch. Not yet indeed; but a share of pleasure also give to me.
First we 'll learn the malady of this one,
Herself relating her destructive fortunes,
And the remainder of her trials let her learn from thee.
PR. 'T is thy part, Io, to do these a favor,
As well for every other reason, and as they are sisters of thy
father.
Since to weep and to lament misfortunes,
There where one will get a tear
From those attending, is worthy the delay.
10. I know not that I need distrust you,
But in plain speech you shall learn
All that you ask for; and yet e'en telling I lament
The god-sent tempest, and dissolution
Of my form — whence to me miserable it came.
For always visions in the night moving about
My virgin chambers, enticed me
With smooth words; “O greatly happy virgin,
Why be a virgin long ? is permitted to obtain
The greatest marriage. For Zeus with love's dart
Has been warmed by thee, and wishes to unite
In love; but do thou, O child, spurn not the couch
Of Zeus, but go out to Lerna's deep
Morass, and stables of thy father's herds,
That the divine eye may cease from desire."
With such dreams every night
Was I unfortunate distressed, till I dared tell
My father of the night-wandering visions.
And he to Pytho and Dodona frequent
Prophets sent, that he might learn what it was necessary
He should say or do, to do agreeably to the gods.
And they came bringing ambiguous
Oracles, darkly and indistinctly uttered.
But finally a plain report came to Inachus,
Clearly enjoining him and telling,
Out of my home and country to expel me,
Discharged to wander to the earth's last bounds,
And if he was not willing, from Zeus would come
A fiery thunderbolt, which would annihilate all his race.
Induced by such predictions of the Loxian,
Against his will he drove me out,
And shut me from the houses ; but Zeus' rein
Compelled him by force to do these things.
Immediately my form and mind were
Changed, and horned, as you behold, stung
By a sharp-mouthed fly, with frantic leaping
Rushed I to Cenchrea's palatable stream,
And Lerna's source; but a herdsman born-of-earth
VOL. III. — NO. 111.
48


378
(Jan.
Prometheus Bound.
of violent temper, Argus, accompanied, with numerous
Eyes my steps observing.
But unexpectedly a sudden fate
Robbed him of life; and I, fly-stung,
By lash divine am driven from land to land.
You hear what has been done; and if you have to say aught,
What's left of labors, speak; nor pitying me
Comfort with false words; for an ill
The worst of all, I say, are made-up words.
Ch. Ah! ah! enough, alas !
Ne'er, ne'er did I presume such cruel words
Would reach my ears, nor thus unsightly,
And intolerable hurts, sufferings, fears with a two-edged
Goad would chill my soul;
Alas! alas ! fate! fate!
I shudder, seeing the state of Io.
PR. Before hand sigh’st thou, and art full of fears,
Hold till the rest also thou learn'st.
Ch. Tell, teach; for to the sick 't is sweet
To know the remaining pain beforehand clearly.
Pr. Your former wish ye got from me
With ease; for first ye asked to learn from her
Relating her own trials;
The rest now hear, what sufferings 't is necessary
This young woman should endure from Here.
But do thou, offspring of Inachus, my words
Cast in thy mind, that thou may'st learn the boundaries of the
way.
First, indeed, hence toward the rising of the sun
Turning thyself, travel uncultivated lands,
And to the Scythian nomads thou wilt come, who woven roofs
On high inhabit, on well-wheeled carts.
With far-casting bows equipped;
Whom go not near, but to the sea-resounding cliffs
Bending thy feet, pass from the region.
On the left hand the iron-working
Chalybes inhabit, whom thou must needs beware,
For they are rude and inaccessible to strangers.
And thou wilt come to the Hybristes river, not ill named,
Which pass not, for not easy is 't to pass,
Before you get to Caucasus itself, highest
Of mountains, where the stream spurts out its tide
From the very temples; and passing over
The star-neighbored summits, 't is necessary to go,
The southern way where thou wilt come to the man-hating
Army of the Amazons, who Themiscyra one day
Will inhabit, by the Thermodon, where's
Salmydessia, rough jaw of the sea,
Inhospitable to sailors, step-mother of ships;
They will conduct thee on thy way, and very cheerfully.
And to the Cinmerian isthmus thou wilt come,


1813.)
379
Prometheus Bound.
Just on the narrow portals of a lake, which leaving
It behoves thee with stout heart to pass the Mæotic straits;
And there will be to mortals ever a great fame
Of thy passage, and Bosphorus from thy name
'T will be called. And leaving Europe's plain
The continent of Asia thou wilt reach. - Seemeth to thee, for-
sooth,
The tyrant of the gods in everything to be
Thus violent? For he a god with this mortal
Wishing to unite, drove her to these wanderings.
A bitter wooer didst thou find, 0 virgin,
For thy marriage. For the words you now have heard
Think not yet to be the prelude.
Io. Ah! me! me! alas ! alas !
PR. Again dost shriek and heave a sigh? What
Wilt thou do when the remaining ills thou learn'st ?
CH. And hast thou any further suffering to tell her ?
PR. Aye, a tempestuous sea of baleful woe.
Io. What profit then for me to live, and not in haste
To cast myself from this rough rock,
That rushing down upon the plain I may be released
From every trouble ? For better once for all to die,
Than all my days to suffer evilly.
Pr. Unhappily my trials would'st thou hear,
To whom to die has not been fated ;
For this would be release from sufferings;
But now there is no end of ills lying
Before me, until Zeus falls from sovereignty.
Io. And is Zeus ever to fall from power?
PR. Thou would'st be pleased, I think, to see this accident.
Io. How should I not, who suffer ill from Zeus?
Pr. That these things then are so, be thou assured.
Io. By what one will the tyrants' power be robbed ?
Pr. Himself, by his own senseless counsels.
Io. In what way show, if there's no harm.
Pr. He will make such a marriage as one day he 'll repent.
Io. Of god or mortal? If to be spoken, tell.
Pr. What matter which ? For these things are not to be told.
Io. By a wife will he be driven from the throne ?
Pr. Aye, she will bring forth a son superior to his father.
Io. Is there no refuge for him from this fate ?


380
[Jan.
Prometheus Bound.
Pr. None, surely, till I may be released from bonds.
Io. Who then is to release thee, Zeus unwilling?
Pr. He must be some one of thy descendants.
Io. How sayest thou — that my child will deliver thee from ills ?
Pr. Third of thy race after ten other births.
Io. This oracle is not yet easy to be guessed.
Pr. But do not seek to understand thy sufferings.
Io. First proffering gain to me, do not then withhold it.
PR. I'll grant thee one of two relations."
Io. What two propose, and give to me my choice.
PR. I give; choose whether thy remaining troubles
I shall tell thee clearly, or him that will release me.
CH. Consent to do her the one favor,
Me the other, nor deem us undeserving of thy words;
To her indeed tell what remains of wandering,
And to me, who will release; for I desire this.
PR. Since ye are earnest, I will not resist
To tell the whole, as much as ye ask for.
To thee first, Io, vexatious wandering I will tell,
Which engrave on the remembering tablets of the mind.
When thou hast passed the flood boundary of continents,
Towards the flaming orient sun-travelled **
Passing through the tumult of the sea, until you reach
The gorgonean plains of Cisthene, where
The Phorcides dwell, old virgins,
Three, swan-shaped, having a common eye,
One-toothed, whom neither the sun looks on
With his beams, nor nightly moon ever.
And near, their winged sisters three,
Dragon-scaled Gorgons, odious to men,
Whom no mortal beholding, will have breath;
Such danger do I tell thee,
But hear another odious sight;
Beware the gryphons, sharp-mouthed
Dogs of Zeus, which bark not, and the one-eyed Arimaspian
Host, going on horse-back, who dwell about
The golden-flowing flood of Pluto's channel ;
These go not near. But to a distant land
Thou 'lt come, a dusky race, who near the fountains
Of the sun inhabit, where is the Æthiopian river.
Creep down the banks of this, until thou com'st
To a descent, where from Byblinian mounts
The Nile sends down its sacred palatable stream.
This will conduct thee to the triangled land
Nilean, where, Io, 't is decreed
Thou and thy progeny shall form the distant colony


1843.]
381
Prometheus Bound.
If aught of this is unintelligible to thee, and hard to be found
out,
Repeat thy questions, and learn clearly;
For more leisure than I want is granted me.
CH. If to her aught remaining or omitted
Thou hast to tell of her pernicious wandering,
Speak; but if thou hast said all, give us
The favor which we ask, for surely thou remember'st.
Pr. The whole term of her travelling has she heard.
But that she may know that not in vain she hears me,
I'll tell what before coming hither she endured,
Giving this as proof of my relations.
The great multitude of words I will omit,
And proceed unto the very limit of thy wanderings.
When then you came to the Molossian ground,
And near the high-ridged Dodona, where
Oracle and seat is of Thesprotian Zeus,
And prodigy incredible, the speaking oaks,
By whom you clearly, and nought enigmatically,
Were called the illustrious wife of Zeus
About to be, if aught of these things soothes thee;
Thence, driven by the fly, you came
The seaside way to the great gulf of Rhea,
From which by courses retrograde you are now tempest-tossed.
But for time to come the sea gulf,
Clearly know, will be called lonian,
Memorial of thy passage to all mortals.
Proofs to thee are these of my intelligence,
That it sees somewhat more than the apparent..
But the rest to you and her in common I will tell,
Having come upon the very track of former words.
There is a city Canopus, last of the land,
By Nile's very mouth and bank;
There at length Zeus makes thee sane,
Stroking with gentle hand, and touching only.
And, named from Zeus' begetting,
Thou wilt bear dark Epaphus, who will reap
As much land as broad-flowing Nile doth water ;
And fifth from him, a band of fifty children
Again to Argos shall unwilling come,
of female sex, avoiding kindred marriage
Of their cousins; but they, with minds inflamed,
Hawks by doves not far left behind,
Will come pursuing marriages
Not to be pursued, but heaven will take vengeance on their
bodies;
For them Pelasgia shall receive by Mars
Subdued with woman's hand with night-watching boldness.
For each wife shall take her husband's life,
Staining a two-edged dagger in his throat.
Such 'gainst my foes may Cypris come. -
But one of the daughters shall love soften


382
[Jan.
Prometheus Bound.
Not to slay her bed-fellow, but she will waver
In her mind; and one of two things will prefer,
To hear herself called timid, rather than stained with blood;
She shall in Argos bear a royal race. -
Of a long speech is need this clearly to discuss.
From this seed, however, shall be born a brave,
Famed for his bow, who will release me
From these sufferings. Such oracle my ancient
Mother told me, Titanian Themis ;
But how and by what means, this needs long speech
To tell, and nothing, learning, wilt thou gain.
Io. Ah me! ah wretched me!
Spasms again and brain-struck
Madness burn me within, and a fly's dart
Stings me — not wrought by fire.
My heart with fear knocks at my breast,
And my eyes whirl round and round,
And from my course I'm borne by madness'
Furious breath, unable to control my tongue;
While confused words dash idly
'Gainst the waves of horrid woe.
CH. Wise, wise indeed was he,
Who first in mind
This weighed, and with the tongue expressed,
To marry accordiug to one's degree is best by far ;
Nor being a laborer with the hands,
To woo those who are by wealth corrupted,
Nor those by birth made great.
Never, never me
Fates * * *
May you behold the sharer of Zeus' couch.
Nor may I be brought near to any husband among those from
heaven,
For I fear, seeing the virginhood of lo,
Not content with man, through marriage vexed
With these distressful wanderings by Here.
But for myself, since an equal marriage is without fear,
I am not concerned lest the love of the almighty
Gods cast its inevitable eye on me.
Without war indeed this war, producing
Troubles; nor do I know what would become of me;
For I see not how I should escape the subtlety of Zeus.
Pr. Surely shall Zeus, though haughty now,
Yet be humble, such marriage
He prepares to make, which from sovereignty
And the throne will cast him down obscure; and father Kronos'
Curse will then be all fulfilled,
Which falling from the ancient seats he imprecated.
And refuge from such ills none of the gods
But I can show him clearly.
I know these things, and in what manner. Now therefore
Being bold, let him sit trusting to lofty


1843.]
383
Prometheus Bound.
Sounds, and brandishing with both hands his fire-breathing
weapon,
For nought will these avail him, not
To fall disgracefully intolerable falls;
Such wrestler does he now prepare,
Himself against himself, a prodigy most hard to be withstood ;
Who, indeed, will invent a better flame than lightning,
And a loud sound surpassing thunder;
And shiver the trident, Neptune's weapon,
The marine earth-shaking ail.
Stumbling upon this ill he'll learn
How different to govern and to serve.
Ch. Aye, as you hope you vent this against Zeus.
PR. What will be done, and also what I hope, I say.
CH. And are we to expect that any will rule Zeus ?
Pr. Even than these more grievous ills he'll have.
CH. How fear'st thou not, hurling such words ?
Pr. What should I fear, to whom to die has not been fated ?
Ch. But suffering more grievous still than this he may inflict.
Pr. Then let him do it; all is expected by me.
CH. Those reverencing Adrastia are wise....
PR. Revere, pray, flatter each successive ruler.
Me less than nothing Zeus concerns.
Let him do, let him prevail this short time
As he will, for long he will not rule the gods —
But I see here, indeed, Zeus' runner,
The new tyrant's drudge;
Doubtless he brings some new message.
PROMETHEUS, CHORUS, and HERMES.
Her. To thee, the sophist, the bitterly bitter,
The sinner against gods, the giver of honors
To ephemerals, the thief of fire, I speak;
The father commands thee to tell the marriage
Which you boast, by which he falls from power ;
And that too not enigmatically,
But each particular declare ; nor cause me
Double journeys, Prometheus ; for thou see'st that
Zeus is not appeased by such.
PR. Solemn-mouthed and full of wisdom
Is thy speech, as of the servant of the gods.
Ye newly rule, and think forsooth
To dwell in griefless citadels; have I not seen
Two tyrants fallen from these ?
And third I shall behold him ruling now,


384
[Jan.
Prometheus Bound.
Basest and speediest. Do I seem to thee
To fear and shrink from the new godz ?
Nay, much and wholly I fall short of this.
The way thou cam'st go through the dust again ;
For thou wilt learn nought which thou ask'st of me.
HER. Aye, by such insolence before
You brought yourself into these woes.
PR. Plainly know, I would not change.
My ill fortune for thy servitude,
For better, I think, to serve this rock
Than be the faithful messenger of Father Zeus.
Thus to insult the insulting it is fit.
HER. Thou seem'st to enjoy thy present state.
Pr. I enjoy ? Enjoying thus my enemies
Would I see; and thee 'mong them I count.
Her. Dost thou blame me for aught of thy misfortunes ?
Pr. In plain words, all gods I hate,
As many as well treated wrong me unjustly.
Her. I hear thee raving, no slight ail..
Pr. Aye, I should ail, if ail one's foes to hate.
Her. If prosperous, thou couldst not be borne.
PR. Ah me!
Her. This word Zeus does not know.
Pr. But time growing old teaches all things.
HER. And still thou know'st not yet how to be prudent.
Pr. For I should not converse with thee a servant.
HER. Thou seem'st to say nought which the father wishes.
Pr. And yet his debtor I'd requite the favor.
Her. Thou mock’st me verily as if I were a child.
Pr. And art thou not a child, and simpler still than this,
If thou expectest to learn aught from me?
There is not outrage nor expedient, by which
Zeus will induce me to declare these things,
Before he loose these grievous bonds.
Let there be hurled then flaming fire,
And with white-winged snows, and thunders
Of the earth, let him confound and mingle all.
For none of these will bend me till I tell
By whom 't is necessary he should fall from sovereignty.
Her. Consider now if these things seem helpful.


1843.]
385
Prometheus Bound.
Pr. Long since these were considered and resolved.
HER. Venture, ( vain one, venture, at length,
In view of present sufferings to be wise.
Pr. In vain you vex me, as a wave, exhorting.
Ne'er let it come into thy mind, that, I, fearing
Zeus' anger, shall become woman-minded,
And beg him, greatly hated,
With womanish upturnings of the hands,
To loose me fron, these bonds. I am far from it.
Her. Though saying much I seem in vain to speak;
For thou art nothing softened nor appeased
By prayers; but champing at the bit like a new-yoked
Colt, thou strugglest and contend'st against the reins.
But thou art violent with feeble wisdom.
For stubbornness to bim who is not wise,
Itself alone, is less than nothing strong.
But consider, if thou art not persuaded by my words,
What storin and triple surge of ills
Will come upon thee not to be avoided; for first this rugged
Cliff with thunder and lightning flame
The Father 'll rend, and hide
Thy body, and a strong arm will bury thee.
When thou hast spent a long length of time,
Thou wilt come back to light; and Zeus'
Shall tear the great rag of thy body,
Creeping an uninvited guest all day,
And banquet on thy liver black by eating.
Of such suffering expect not any end,
Before some god appear
Succeeding to thy labors, and wish to go to rayless
Hades, and the dark depths of Tartarus.
Therefore deliberate; since this is not made
Boasting, but in earnest spoken ;
For to speak falsely does not know the mouth
Of Zeus, but every word he does. So
Look about thee, and consider, nor ever think
Obstinacy better than prudence.
Ch. To us indeed Hermes appears to say not unseasonable things,
For he directs thee, leaving off
Self-will, to seek prudent counsel.
Obey; for, it is base to err, for a wise man.
PR. To me foreknowing these messages
He has uttered, but for a foe to suffer ill
From foes, is nought unseemly.
Therefore 'gainst me let there be hurled
Fires' double-pointed curl, and air
Be provoked with thunder, and a tumult
Of wild winds; and earth from its foundations
Let a wind rock, and its very roots,
And with a rough surge mingle
VOL. III. — NO. III.
49


386
[Jay.
Prometheus Bound.
The sea waves with the passages
Of the heavenly stars, and to black
Tartarus let him quite cast down my
Body, by necessity's strong eddies;
Yet after all he will not kill me.
Her. Such words and counsels you may hear
From the brain-struck.
For what lacks he of being mad?
And if prosperous, what does he cease from madness?
Do you, therefore, who sympathize
With this one's suffering,
From these places quick withdraw somewhere,
Lest the harsh bellowing thunder
Stupify your minds.
Ca. Say something else, and exhort me
To some purpose; for surely
Thou hast intolerably abused this word.
How direct me to perform a baseness?
I wish to suffer with him whate'er is necessary,
For I have learned to hate betrayers ;
Nor is the pest
Which I abominate more than this.
HER. Remember then what I fore-tell ;
Nor by calamity pursued
Blame fortune, nor e'er say
That Zeus into unforeseen
Ill has cast you; surely not, but yourselves
You yourselves; for knowing,
And not suddenly nor clandestinely,
You 'll be entangled through your folly
In an impassible net of woe.
Pr. Surely indeed, and no more in word,
Earth is shaken;
And a hoarse sound of thunder
Bellows near; and wreathes of lightning
Flash out fiercely blazing, and whirlwinds dust
Whirl up; and leap the blasts
Of all winds, 'gainst one another
Blowing in opposite array;
And air with sea is mingled ;
Such impulse against me from Zeus
Producing fear, doth plainly come.
O revered Mother, O Ether
Revolving common light to all,
You see me, how unjust things I endure!
H. D. T.


1843.)
387
Literary Intelligence.
LITERARY INTELLIGENCE.
The death of Dr. Channing at Bennington in Vermont, on the
2d October, is an event of great note to the whole country. The
great loss of the community is mitigated by the new interest
which intellectual power always acquires by the death of the
possessor. Dr. Channing was a man of so much rectitude, and
such power to express his sense of right, that his value to this
country, of which he was a kind of public Conscience, can hardly
be overestimated. Not only his merits, but his limitations also,
which made all his virtues and talents intelligible and available
for the correction and elevation of society, made our Cato dear,
and his loss not to be repaired. His interest in the times, and
the fidelity and independence, with which, for so many years, he
had exercised that censorship on commercial, political, and lit-
erary morals, which was the spontaneous dictate of his character,
had earned for him an accumulated capital of veneration, which
caused his opinion to be waited for in each emergency, as that
of the wisest and most upright of judges. We shall probably
soon have an opportunity to give an extended account of his
character and genius. In most parts of this country notice has
been taken of this event, and in London also. Beside the pub-
lished discourses of Messrs. Gannett, Hedge, Clarke, Parker,
Pierpont, and Bellows, Mr, Bancroft made Dr. Channing's genius
the topic of a just tribute in a lecture before the Diffusion Soci-
ety at the Masonic Temple. We regret that the city has not
yet felt the propriety of paying a public honor to the memory of
one of the truest and noblest of its citizens.
The French papers have announced the death of Baron De-
gerando, author of an excellent History of Philosophy, but more
generally known in this country by his work on Self-Education,
From Germany, we have received letters rich in details on the
Universities and Professors, and a copy of Schelling's Introduc-
tory Lecture at Berlin. We translate, below, the entire lecture,
although its interest, to our disappointment, is that of position and
not of thought. Yet it will have value for those who have
watched the progress of German philosophy since Kant, whether
with that earnest expectation which awaits the perfect develop-
ment of human thought on the highest themes, or with that
what next? kind of curiosity which loves to see the mill of human
ingenuity going, and cares little whether the product be an Iden-
titäts-Philosophie or a spinning-jenny. One good thing we note,
Das Heil der Deutschen ist in der Wissenschaft.


388
[Jan.
Literary Intelligence.
HEIDELBERG, Oct. 20, 1842.
I have taken up my abode for the winter here in Heidelberg.
I will spare you the story of my journey hither, of the sunsets
and the sea, of Rouen churches and Belgian cathedrals, and of
the pictures of Rubens. I shall tell you nothing of the Rhine
(which, apart from its castles and history, will compare well with
the Hudson)-nothing of the antiquities of Aix la Chapelle and
Cologne, and shall pass without stopping by Rolandseck, Ehren-
breitstein, the Rheinfels, Bishop Hatto's Tower, and Johannis-
berg. Of Heidelberg, I will give you presently some details.
There is a general desire, now noticeable in many continental
cities, of restoring and finishing the principal churches and other
buildings of architectural pretensions. At Rouen, this fact came
under my observation; and again at Antwerp and Brussels ; but
especially at Cologne. The cathedral there has for centuries
been something between a fragment and a ruin. It is now to
be restored and completed Thirty years is, I believe, the lowest
computation of the time requisite therefor, and the sum of money
needed, enormous. But it is not doubted that the spirit now
awakened in both Protestants and Catholics will ensure its con-
tribution. And then Germany will have a church to compare
with anything in Italy; the St. Peters of Gothic architecture
will be completed. The King of Prussia is the leader in this
business. It is understood to be a political movement on his
part. His Rhenish provinces, which are strong holds of the
Catholic religion, were quite disaffected to his father, the late
king, for several reasons; particularly for his perseverance in
opposing the Catholic clergy on the subject of marriages between
Papists and Protestants. The present king adheres to the policy
of his father on this question ; but of course has not the personal
unpopularity which the introducer of the policy could not escape.
And now he has apparently won the hearts of his Catholic sub-
jects by this interest shown in the completion of the cathedral
of Cologne; the original plans have been carefully preserved, and
will be exactly followed. If, when completed, it shall possess all
the beauty of which the engraving gives promise, it will be well
worth a pilgrimage to Cologne to see. Pity that its interior
should be defiled with the nonsense of the skulls of the three
kings, the bones of St. Matthew, &c. &c.
At Bonn, a few miles above Cologne, I went to see A. W.
Schlegel. He is a striking-looking old gentleman of seventy-
five, quite gray, but not bent by age, nor weakened in his mental
powers. He still lectures in the University on subjects connected
with the arts, and, as he told me, has just published a volume
of his miscellaneous pieces, heretofore printed in different jour-
nals. The collection is in the French language. He further


1843.]
389
Schlegel - Schelling.
said that he was soon to publish an enlarged and improved
edition of his Lectures on Dramatic Art and Literature. He
was pleased that W. and I should come to see him. He kept
us about an hour, making many inquiries respecting Americans
whom he knew, as the Everetts and Mr. Ticknor, and mention
ing with evident delight the republication of his writings in
America. In the preface to his new book, he declares his con-
sciousness that even beyond the Atlantic his name is still a living
thing.
But now, of Schelling and his doings at Berlin. I send you
his introductory lecture, delivered nearly a year ago on his advent
here, which caused so extraordinary a sensation after his silence
of twenty-five years. During the winter semestre he was at-
tended by about three hundred auditors, and listened to with
great admiration. His lectures were given in the capacity of a
member of the Berlin Academy, between November 15th and
March 18th. A torch-light procession of the students, who had
listened to him, came in front of his residence on the evening
when he concluded his lectures; and he addressed them as
follows. (You are indebted to W. for the translation.)
"I accept with joy and gratitude this open testimony of your recog-
nition of my labors. We have passed four months together in deep and
hearty interchange of thought. That I ain known by you is a source
of pleasure to me; and you too, who five months ago were strangers to
me, - what has won for me, your favor, your confidence, your sympathy ?
It is true, gentlemen, I have exerted myself to impart somewhat to you,
that will endure longer than the swiftly fleeting relation between
teacher and hearer—to give you particularly a philosophy, which can
not only maintain itself within the narrow precincts of a school, among
a scanty circle of disciples, but can bear the chill air of life, and show
itself in the broad eye of day. But hearts are not won by the mere
subject-matter of discourse. What, then, has personally attracted you
to me? This alone; that I sought to acqnaint you with the loftiest
things in all their truth and peculiarity ; that I have not given you, in-
stead of the bread that you desired, a stone, with the assurance that that
was bread, that I have not concealed my aversion to every system of in-
struction that only trains to falsehood, my displeasure at that coolly-
planned distortion, so sadly attractive, which aims at the same moral
and spiritual deformity—and that too, in youthful minds, whose finest
ornaments are honor, rectitude, and genuine sentiments. Gentlemen,
this same uprightness, this rectitude, this love of truth, which at your
age is niost highly prized, you have recognised, and will still farther
recognise in me. The spiritual communion which has existed between
us during this winter, will not be broken now; the germ which I have
planted in you, will not-I know it from repeated experience—will not
rest. It will of itself grow and expand, and burst every fetter that
would restrain it.
“In this I confide, upon this I ground the hope, that even when I am
no longer with you, you will say, he did not come to us in vain! Let
me too respond: wherever I have taught, the youth have met me with


390
[Jan.
Literary Intelligence.
confidence, with love, but the last have become in my heart the first; as
we observe that offspring born in later years are ever dearest to the
parents. Accept again my warmest thanks for this open proof of your
good wishes and syinpathy, and for the present season once more a
heartfelt adieu.”
On the 22d March an address of thanks, printed on parchment,
containing many signatures, and among them Neander's and
Twesten's, was presented to Schelling. It ran as follows: -
“Address of thanks to his Excellency the Privy Counsellor, &c., Von
Schelling. Dignum laudi virum vetat musa mori. In the morning of
your life you were already chosen to be the herald of a better tine.
Now, in the evening of that life so full of significance, you are called to
introduce a new era of science. Yes, beloved Teacher! you have been
spared to a great mission by Him, who conducts to their predestinated
goal both the fates of men, and the history of science. You it was, who
withheld from us none of the fruits of your many years of silent reflec-
tion, that you might indicate the path to a positive philosophy, bringing
Idea and Life, Faith and Science (Glauben and Wissen) into harmony.
May you, honored teacher, yet long enjoy the results of your researches,
and in the service of Truth, and of Him who is the Source of all Truth,
may you here proclaim, with wonted energy, to your latest days, words
of light and gladness. This is the sincere wish and the free homage of
the undersigned, who, having gathered round you from the various
spheres of common life, hung upon your words, and followed with eager
interest the train of your reflections, through the night of the past to the
faint morning-red of the future.”.
During the summer semestre, Schelling lectured on the Phi-
losophy of Mythology to an audience of about sixty. The small-
ness of this number, compared with the audience of the previous
half year, occasioned many expressions of triumph, I gather in
various ways, on the part of the Hegelians. They declared that
Von Schelling's visit to Berlin had been only an experiment on
the part of the King of Prussia, and that it had signally failed.
The friends of Schelling, indeed, might say with reason, that“ an
outflush of foolish young enthusiasm," which would naturally and
desirably die away, had perhaps attended the first appearance of
the veteran philosopher in Berlin; and that circumstance,
coupled with the fact, that the Philosophy of Mythology is not
so generally attractive a subject as a philosophical system, which
undertakes to reconcile Revelation with Reason, would fully
explain the falling off in his audience in the hot weather of the
summer, when the Prussian capital is neither a desirable nor a
fashionable residence. But such considerations did not prevent
the Hegelians from the most confident prophecies, that Schelling
would, on his return to Munich in the autumn, omit to ask leare
of absence from the duties of his Professorship there, for the
ensuing year, and settle down into the inaction of previous years,
and so, as to name, fame, and influence, quite die out. I have
just learned that their prophecies have already come to nought.


1843.]
391
Schelling - Tieck — Rationalism, &c.
Schelling returned to Munich; and has now resigned his Professor-
ship there; it is generally supposed, after an ineffectual attempt
to obtain leave of absence for another year. He now goes to
Berlin as his home for the rest of his life; but, I believe, does not
take the style of a Professor in the University there, but in the
capacity of a member of the Academy of Sciences receives a
salary of 2000 Thalers a year, and the considerable addition
thereto arising from lecture-fees. He is said to be on the eve
of publishing four volumes; I., On the History of Philosophy
since Descartes. II., On Positive Philosophy. III., On the
Philosophy of Mythology. IV., On the Philosophy of Religion.
His lectures on Natural Philosophy he will not publish himself;
but leave to the care of his literary executor. I am told that old.
Schellingism and new-Schellingism are quite different things.
Tieck, whose apoplectic fit you may have heard of, is better,
and likely perfectly to recover. But as he is now in his seven-
tieth year the literary world can expect little more from him.
The papers left by Hegel are in the course of preparation for the
press. They are nearly or quite illegible, with corrections,
erasures, and interlineations, innumerable ; quite as inscrutable
as his system, say such scoffers as have set eyes upon them. We
shall doubtless now have a complete and uniform edition of the
works. Of Count Platen I have as yet learned little. Munich
was his home; and he has now been dead for some years. The
best edition of his writings is Cotta's; a double-columned octavo,
of some 500 pages. The first part of Schlosser's third volume
on the History of the Eighteenth Century is published, and the
second part is soon to appear.
Complaints are frequently heard in all parts of Germany, that
the various governments, and of late the King of Prussia in par-
ticular, restrict the teachers in the several Universities, turning
out those who teach doctrines in theology, philosophy, or politics,
opposed to those of the court. The pure old-fashioned rational-
ism has been well nigh hunted out of the Theological Schools;
at Giessen alone, which Hengstenberg calls a Hell, it has sway;
and Credner says what he pleases. In Tübingen it is tolerated
in the person of Baur. Hegel's followers, if they wish to keep
their places in the Universities, must teach, as many of them do,
that Hegelism rightly understood is the same thing as the Chris-
tian doctrine rightly understood. The Hegelian opponents of
Christianity, among whom Bruno-Bauer is by many good men
here in Heidelberg reckoned, and the symbolists of the same
philosophical school, are not allowed to teach in any University,
I believe. The removal of Bruno-Bauer was viewed with great
dismay by many of the confessedly Christian Hegelians, and by


392
[Jan.
Literary Intelligence.
against the proceeding; but many of the liberty party, Hegelians
even, were so little pleased with the book of Bruno-Bauer, that
they were unwilling to make common cause with him. But a
crisis, it is generally allowed, must soon come. And the liberals
say that a good case alone is wanting for them to stand forth,
and assert for the teachers the right of speaking what they think
true, without fear or favor.
22d. As for Heidelberg, it is four weeks to-day since I came
into the place. We have taken a suite of rooms, which several
Americans have occupied before us, in the house of a family who
speak English. I have made the acquaintance of Schlosser to
whom Mr. Bancroft gave me a letter, and have met him repeat-
edly. He is a very obliging old gentleman of somewhat more
than sixty years, with a fine countenance and perfectly white
hair, and all the fire and enthusiasm of a young man. It was
amusing to hear him denounce Tholuck and his party, as devilish
and infernal hypocrites, who made the religious dispositions of
the people the means of reconciling them to despotism. To
Professor Park of Andover, who called on him a little earlier, he
used similar language. I shall hear him lecture this winter. He
has the largest class of all the professors here, excepting Von
Vangerow and Mittermaier. The first lectures on the Pandects
to an audience of one hundred and fifty; Mittermaier, on Criminal
Law, on Commercial and Maritime Law, &c. to one hundred
and twenty; and Schlosser to sixty or seventy on recent History.
Von Vangerow, a very young and handsome man, is, since the
death of Thibaut and the elevation of Von Savigny to a seat in
the Prussian Cabinet, the most celebrated lecturer on Roman
Law in Germany.
Professor Schlosser introduced us to old Paulus. Eighty-two
years have not blunted the acuteness of his intellect, if they have
somewhat impaired his memory. We found him hard at work.
pen in hand, and the characters on the paper were firmly drawn.
It struck us oddly that the name of Dr. Channing, to whom
allusion was made in the conversation, was new to him. But
the ignorance of scholars and of professors respecting America
is boundless. A noticeable person here is a young lecturer on
philosophy, named Roeth. He lectures this winter on the crisis
resulting to the philosophical works from the opposition of the
systems of Schelling and Hegel. He may fairly represent that
newest German school, which undertakes to receive both the
a posteriori element of the English philosophers, and the a priori
element of the Germans, giving to each its proper place, and
which school, as I learn, is daily gaining ground.
Thus far, I have chanced to find but little admiration for
Goethe. The statement that he is read in America, is received


1843.
393
Ernst Fries - Gesenius - Hegel.
with coldness. But when the fact is mentioned, that the letters
of Bettine and Günderode have admirers beyond the Atlantic,
many persons are forward to express their indignation, as if they
felt a personal responsibility for whatever came from the German
press. Some young people, whom I know, are sufficiently enthu-
siastic in their regard for Goethe. But for Schiller all profess
unbounded reverence and admiration; and Jean Paul is spoken
of much in the same way except that the praise is sometimes
qualified by criticisms on his style. Of English authors they
know little here of Wordsworth, nothing of Carlyle, whilst Bul.
wer and James are found in every parlor. Of Shakspeare you
shall hear not uncommonly passages repeated in conversation ;
and Byron and Scott are familiar names. Cooper seems to be
the only American who is really read here, but they do not know
that he is an American.
A beautiful memorial of one Ernst Fries, a landscape painter,
who died some ten years ago, has just been completed here. His
pictures were few in number, but among them were two or three
of great merit. The people of Heidelberg, and the friends he
had made in his artist-travels, joined in a subscription, and built
a fine road from the castle to a higher summit, on which once
stood a Roman fort. It winds round the hill in such a manner
as to afford the finest views of the valley and town below, and
nearly in the middle an inscription is cut in the living rock. This
way is called the Friesenweg. .
HEIDELBERG, Nov. 11th.
The death of Gesenius will undoubtedly have been known in
America a fortnight before this arrives. It took place Sunday,
Oct. 23d; the disease was cancer of the stomach. His great
Lexicon or Thesaurus of the Hebrew Language wants still a part
for its completion. Five of the six have been already published.
It is hoped that Professor Rödiger will supply the remainder.
The appointment of his successor is watched with jealous eyes ;
and the King of Prussia must expect a new flood of abuse, if he
takes a pietist or a Schellingian. Gesenius was the Professor
who made Halle so attractive to theological students ; his Audi-
toriums were of from three to four hundred. Clemens Brentano,
the brother of Bettine, and the publisher, in conjunction with Von
Arnim, of the Child's Wonder Horn, also has quite recently died.
I spoke in my last of the new edition of Hegel as now pub-
lishing; it is complete. Marheineke, Schulze, Gens, Von Hen-
ning, Hotho, Michelet, and Förster, were the editors. It fills 18
volumes, 8vo., and was published 1832–41. It is made up as
follows : Vol. I., Philosophical Discussions. II., Phenomenolo-
gy of Spirit. III., IV., V., Logic. VI., VII., Encyclopædia.
VIII., Philosophy of Law. IX., Philosophy of History. X.,
VOL. III. NO. III.
50


394
Jan.
Literary Intelligence.
Æsthetics. XI., XII., Philosophy of Religion. XIII., XIV.,
XV., History of Philosophy. XVI., XVII., Miscellanies. XVIII.,
Philosophical Propædeutics. The 12th and last volume of a
complete and uniform edition of Kant's works has just been pub-
lished at Leipzig. The first complete and uniform edition of
Zuinglius's writings has lately made its appearance in Zurich.
Six new volumes have between 1837 and 1842 been added to
the 12 vol. ed. of Schiller's Works. They contain a Life which
has the sanction of the family of Schiller, and selections from
his MSS. Two new volumes of correspondence have been ad-
ded to the common edition of Johann Von Müller's Works. A
new, complete, and cheap edition of Von Chamisso's writings
is just published. Varnhagen Von Ense has published the
second volume of the new series of his Denkwurdigkeiten,
Hammer-Purgstall, (Von Hammer,) has commenced the pub-
lication of a work on the Mongolians in Persia; which is
a page of the history of the 13th and 14th centuries which
is worth some study, it seems. The first volumne has already
appeared; a second will probably complete the work. Wach-
smuth has published a brief history of the French Revolu-
tion, in the Library of Modern History projected by Heeren and
Ukert. Neander has published a new edition of his Church
History, and dedicated it to Schelling. Ranke's History of Ger-
many during the time of the Reformation is in the course of
publication, but not yet completed. Von Raumer has just pub-
lished the volume of his Historical Taschenbuch, or Annual,
for 1843. A complete and uniform edition of Creuzer's publi-
cations is in progress. Gervinus has completed his History
of the Poetic National Literature of the Germans in five vol-
umes, 8vo., and also published a Handbuch on the same in
one volume. I met him at Schlosser's table. His history is
worth telling. A few years ago, for he is still a young man, he
was a grocer's apprentice in Darmstadt. Since then he has
raised himself to a Professorship at Göttingen, which he left,
rather than submit to the requirements of the present King of
Hanover. In his retirement here in Heidelberg, he has written
this book, which has already given him a fame throughout Ger-
many. It is considered the best specimen of literary history
which Germany has yet produced. Hoffmann of Fallersleben,
the Breslau Professor, sometimes styled the Beranger of Ger-
many, who published a year ago some volumes of original poetry,
entitled “Political Poems” and “Poems not Political," is ex-
tremely popular at present for having incurred the displeasure
of the Prussian government by the first of these. Last sum-
mer he was forbidden to lecture by the government; and
this autumn the savans, who had a great meeting at Stras-


1843.)
395
Valhalla.
bourg, made him one of their vice presidents, to show him that
they liked him the better, rather than the worse, for what he had
done.
The following books are promised. A complete edition of
Mendelsohn's writings. A work on Mythology by Wolfgang
Menzel. The first number appears on the first of January. A
new and improved edition of Grimm's German Mythology. A
new History of Ancient Philosophy, by Dr. Roeth, the learned
and promising privat-docent I mentioned in my last. It is to
be in four volumes; the two first come out at Easter. Um-
breit, who has just published his second and last volume on
the Prophecies of Isaiah, announces a Commentary on Jeremiah.
The savans of Germany held a great meeting at Strasbourg
during the last week in September. Mainz was the scene of a
meeting of the scientific men during the third week of the same
month. And the philologists met at Ulm, in the last days of
September and beginning of October.
VALHALLA.
The King of Bavaria has just opened the Valhalla with much
pomp and circumstance. This is designed as a sort of Temple
of Fame for Germany. It is to contain the busts of all the Teu-
tonic race who have distinguished, or may distinguish, them-
selves in arms or in arts. Arminius and Blucher, Nibelung
Bards and Minnesingers, Schiller and Goethe, poets, heroes,
kings, statesmen, artists, musicians, composers, historians, and
sages, are all admitted on a common footing. If no genuine
bust can be obtained, a fancy piece is substituted. Even if the
name of the author of any great work in literature or art is un-
known, this does not invalidate his claim to admission. Thus,
the architect of the Cologne cathedral lives here in a fancied
effigy, though even his name has died out from the records and
memory of men. In the Hall of Expectation, a sort of Ante-
chamber, are placed the busts of the living spiritual nobility of
Germany, as it were on probation. This Valhalla is the reali-
zation of a youthful dream of the present King of Bavaria, a
monarch who unites in his character a French love of spectacles,
with a real admiration of art, and love of artists. The building
stands nearly in the centre of Germany, on an eminence three
hundred feet above the Danube. Donaustauf, near Ratisbon, is
the town nearest to it. It is a Doric temple, of white limestone,
of the proportions of the Parthenon. Leo Von Kleuze was the
architect. Schwanthaler has furnished alto relievos for the ped-
iments. One of them represents the victory of the Cheruscii
over the Romans; the other the efforts of the Germans against


396
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Literary Intelligence.
the French in the War of Liberation. The same distinguished
artist has completed a colossal statue of Germania, and symbol-
ical figures of the principal German States.
There are three questions on which all Germany seems to be
alive. 1st, The question between Catholicism and Protestant-
ism, in which the Cologne intermarriage troubles form no slight
feature. Görres and Neander take part in this discussion. 2d,
The question between Schelling and Hegel, in which Schelling
himself and Marheineke are the chief figurantes. 3d, The liberty
of teaching. The publications on this subject hinge generally
on the removal of Bruno-Bauer from his privat-docentship at
Bonn. On these subjects pamphlets and newspaper articles are
of frequent appearance. Caricatures, rivalling in stupidity and
indecency anything of American growth, are fast becoming the
order of the day. And, what is the strangest of all, engravings
without letter-press have lately, in Prussia, been made free from
censorship. As for the second question ; suppose Hegelism tri-
umphant, then Marheineke must fight out a battle with Strauss.
Strauss, too, is now backed by many who will soon find him too
conservative. For he, I believe, wishes to build up a Christian
faith and practice on his Dogmatics. But Feuerbach will pro-
bably resist such a procedure as rigorously as he now resists
Schelling or Marheineke. Strauss is now backed by Ruge, the
editor of the Deutsche Jahr Bücher, Feuerbach, and Bruno-
Bauer. Beside these, Mosen, Gutzkow, and Laube, support
him by their writings for the stage ; and Hoffman, Pratz, Ding-
elstadt, and Herwigh, by their verses. He himself is living at
Heilbronn, in Wurtemburg, which city stands on the Neckar, a
few hours ride above Heidelberg. Common report says that he
has just married an opera-singer.
HEIDELBERG, Nov. 22.
American books and affairs are noticed more and more in the
German journals; such matters, for instance, as Longfellow's
recent visit to Europe, - with a sketch of his life, and compli-
mentary notice of his writings ; Dr. Channing'e death; Morton's
Crania Americana; Bancroft's third volume, &c. Dr. Robin-
son, Prescott, and Sparks, are duly appreciated; one finds
the names of Judge Story, Webster, Clay, Calhoun, Wheaton,
the Everetts, and Ticknor, in all the Conversations Lexicons ;
and in Wolff and Schutz's “British Museum," a fair proportion
Bryant, Clark, Miss Davidson, Doane, Frisbie, Gould, Irving,
Halleck, Percival, Peabody, Pierpont, Sedgwick, Sigourney,
Willis, Woodworth, Flint, and Bird. Irving's Sketch Book is
reprinted here with German notes, to be used in schools where


1843.]
397
American and German Books.
English is taught; and I see in my tailor's shop a fine engraving
of a scene in one of Cooper's Indian novels, by a German artist.
The Irvings, Cooper, Paulding, and Hoffmann, are translated ;
and many of Cooper's books are reprinted in the English. Yet
the people generally know nothing about the Americans. Their
idea of one ranges indefinitely between an Indian and a Negro;
and in the bookstores and print-shops you surprise the trades-
men by informing them that the Americans speak English;
sometimes, even, you may meet a Professor who thinks that only
the educated portion of the Americans speak English, while the
farmers and mechanics use a mixed dialect of Pequod, Choc-
taw, and Irroquois.
Dana's “ Two Years Before the Mast” has been translated;
and some of Longfellow's poems, by Freiligrath. Also a trans-
lation of Allston's " Monaldi," and of Prescott's “ Ferdinand and
Isabella," are promised. The following new works may be men-
tioned. A volume supplementary to the common edition of
Goethe's works, containing “ Odysseus and Nausikaa ;” a sup-
plementary volume of Lessing, containing “Dramen und dram-
atischen Fragmenten;" the third and last volume of Bruno-
Bauer's “ Kritik der Evangelischen Geschichte der Synoptiker
und des Johannes.” Laube, one of the most celebrated young
Germans, advertises a novel as nearly ready, to be called “Die
Gräfin Chateaubriand;" Alexander Jung, another, has published
“Vorlesangen über die moderne Literature der Deutschen;" the
plays of Julius Mosen, also of young Germany, have lately been
published, the last of which, “ Bernhard Von Weimar," has,
within a short time, been repeatedly enacted at Dresden, with
great applause, Georg Herwegh, a young poet of the same
school, is quite famous here at present. The leading Review
of this class seems to be the “ Deutscher Jahrbücher;" the
leading magazines, the “Telegraph," published at Hamburg,
and the “Morgenblatt für gebildete Leser," published by Cotta,
at Stuttgard.
Edward Ferrand, (Schulz) of Berlin, the poet, of whom
Chamisso said that " he played only on one string, but on that
like Paganini," has recently died.
[We omit many interesting details on the German Universi-
ties, furnished by our correspondent, especially on the Univer-
sity of Berlin, and make haste to present to our readers the
Introductory Lecture of Schelling. ]


398
[Jan.
Literary Intelligence.
SCHELLING'S INTRODUCTORY LECTURE IN BERLIN,
15th Nov., 1841.
GENTLEMEN,
I FEEL the whole significance of this moment. I know
what I am taking upon me. How can I disguise from myself,
or how can I wish to conceal from you, what is uttered and
declared by my very appearance in this place? Assuredly,
gentlemen, were I not convinced that I render an important
service to philosophy, nay, a more important one than I have
ever yet rendered, by my presence here, I should not now stand
before you. This, then, is my own conviction ; but I am far
from expecting, still less can I think of demanding, that this
should be the general opinion regarding me. This, only, do
I hope to obtain, that no one may look with evil eye on my
present position; that I may have free indulgence of time and
place for that explicit answer to the question, Dic cur hic ?
which I am about to give in the whole series of the following
lectures. For I, too, have given place to others, and have
thrown no stumbling-block in the way of any who strove for
the same goal in science with myself. If I have attained to
anything, in this department, that deserves to be offered here,
and to claim the attention of such an assembly as I now see
before me, the way to that attainment was open to all, and no
one can say that I have prevented him by a too forward haste.
It is now forty years, since I succeeded in turning over a
new leaf in the history of philosophy. One page of it has
been filled up, and I would willingly have left it to another to
state the facit, the result of the same, and then to turn over
anew, and begin the following page.
When I declare, that I feel the whole weight and difficulty
of the task I have undertaken, and yet have not declined it,
I express, it is true, the consciousness of a decided call to this
work. But I have not imposed this call upon myself. It has
come to me without any forth-putting on my part; and, now
that it has come, I may not deny nor slight it. I have not
proposed myself as a teacher of the time. If I am one, the
time has made me so, and I can take no credit to myself in the
matter; for, what I have done for philosophy, I have done in
consequence of a necessity imposed upon me by my inner
nature.
Circumstances compel me, on this occasion, to speak of
myself; but I am far from the vanity of self-commendation.
The man who, after performing his part in philosophy, thought
proper to retire and leave free scope for the experiments of


1843.]
399
Schelling's Introductory Lecture.
others; who, himself retired from the scene of action, suffered
in silence every judgment that was passed upon him, nor was
moved to break that silence by the undue advantage which was
taken of it, nor even by falsifications of the history of modern
philosophy; who, in possession of a philosophy — not one of
those which explain nothing, but rich in earnestly-desired and
urgently-demanded solutions - extending the boundaries of hu-
man consciousness, quietly allowed men to say that his day was
gone by; who now breaks this silence, so entire and complete,
only because he is called to do so by unquestionable duty,
because indubitably assured that the time has come to speak
a decisive word; — this man, gentlemen, has shown, at least,
that he is capable of self-denial, that froward conceit is not his
infirmity, that he has a higher aim than transient opinion, a
cheap and fleeting renown.
I know well, that, to some, I shall be a burden. I had been
brought under, I was construed, it was known precisely what
was in me. Now they are to begin with me anew, and to see
that, after all, there was something in me which had not been
understood.
According to the natural order of things, a younger man,
and one more equal to the task, should occupy this place in-
stead of me. Let him come! I shall rejoice to make room
for him. How often have I not envied the fair talents of a
younger growth, which I have, every where, seen perplexing
themselves with means and forms, of which I knew that they
could lead to nothing — that there was nothing to be gained
by them! How willingly would I have taken them to myself!
how gladly have helped those who would know nothing of me!
But, now that I could no longer avoid the conviction that I
must give my own hand to the work, if ever that was to be
perfected, which I considered as necessary, as demanded by
the time, by the whole course of philosophy hitherto; and that
I had been spared for this very work; now that I was solicited
to labor, as teacher, in this metropolis, where every word of
deeper import is uttered for all Germany, and is even carried
beyond the limits of Germany; where, alone, it was possible
to act with decisive effect, where, at least, the fate of Ger-
man philosophy must be decided ; - now, in this important mo-
ment, since God has spared my life thus far, not to be want-
ing to that philosophy which has been the guardian-spirit of
my days, I have felt to be a duty which might not be put by,
and only this thought, — this clear conviction, has determined
me. I will not deny, indeed, that there were other motives. To
serve, though for a short period, a king, exalted not less by the
qualities of his mind and heart than by the splendor of his
throne :— whom I had venerated long before the royal purple


400
[Jan.
Literary Intelligence,
adorned him :- the land and people whose moral and political
supremacy every true German has, from his infancy, been ac-
customed to honor, and has learned to honor anew in the ever-
memorable events of these latter years; the city which is first
named when the seats of Science, and of still advancing culture
in Germany, are the subject of discourse; which, indeed, like
a mighty deep, is not easily moved by every breath, and has
sometimes exerted a retarding influence, (I refer to the time
when the philosophy of Kant had found response in every
quarter of Germany, except the capital of his native land,) but
which seizes and promotes with its might whatever it has once
recognised as worthy :- and then the circle of scientific men,
the chief ornaments of this city, among whom are many
known to me as early friends, and others long revered, men
with whom I should always have esteemed it a pleasure to live
and work; finally, the youth of this place, known by the zeal
with which they obey the call of Science, undaunted by diffi-
culty, rejoicing in their career, outstripping their teachers
wherever a worthy goal is set before them ; — these, gentlemen,
were attractions of great, of almost irresistible power. But,
powerful as they were, they must have yielded to other con-
siderations, so obvious that I need not name them. Not till
I was forced to recognise, in the unsought invitation which
came to me, a command which I could not and dared not re-
sist, under penalty of failing to fulfil my true and highest life-
calling, did I resolve to come. And, so resolved, I now appear
among you, with the conviction, that, if ever I have accom-
plished anything, be it much or little, in the service of Phi-
losophy, I shall render her a more important service now, if I
can succeed in conducting her out of the undeniable difficul-
ties, in which she finds herself, into the free, unfettered, on all
sides unembarrassed movement, of which she is now deprived.
For these difficulties, with which Philosophy has to contend,
are obvious, and may not be concealed.
At no time has philosophy encountered so mighty a reaction
from the side of life, as at this moment; - a proof that it has
penetrated to those life-questions, in relation to which, indif-
ference is neither lawful nor possible to any. While philosophy
abides in its first rudiments, or the earlier stages of its progress,
it concerns none but those who make philosophic inquiry the
business of life. Others await it at the end of its course.
For the world, it becomes important only through its results.
It argues great inexperience, however, to suppose that the
world is prepared to adopt any conclusion which philosophy
may see fit to impose upon it, as the legitimate deduction of
strict scientific investigation. Were this the case, it must, in
some instances, accept a doctrine essentially immoral, or one


1843.]
401
Schelling's Introductory Lecture.
by which the foundations of morality are removed. But no
one expects this of the world, and no philosopher has yet been
found, who presumed this facility. The world would not ac-
cept, as a sufficient answer in such cases, “ You do not under-
stand the principles, the technical and complicated process
of demonstration.” Without regard to these, it would main-
tain, that a philosophy, which led to such results, must needs be
wrong in its first principles. What Roman moralists have
maintained with respect to the useful, — Nihil utile nisi quod
honestum, - it would urge as equally applicable to the true.
And that which every one acknowledges, in relation to morals,
must be equally true of all other convictions, which constitute
the security of human life, - especially, therefore, of religious
belief. Now, this is the precise position of philosophy at
present. It affirms itself religious in its conclusions, while the
world denies that it is so, and regards, particularly, its dedue-
tions of Christian dogmas as mere illusions. Such is even
the confession of many of its faithful or unfaithful disciples.
Whether it be so or not, is, for the present, indifferent; enough,
that a suspicion of this sort has been awakened, - that such is
the general opinion.
But life is always right in the end. And so the very exis-
tence of philosophy is endangered on this side. Already, there
are those, who profess to quarrel with a particular philosophy,
but, in fact, mean all philosophy, and who say, in their hearts,
Philosophy in general shall be no more. This is a matter in
which í, too, am concerned; for the first impulse to this phi-
losophy -- which, on account of its religious bearing, is now
looked upon with such evil eye- is supposed to have proceeded
from me. In this predicament, how shall I act? Assuredly,
I shall attack no philosophy on the side of its last results. No
philosophic mind, capable of judging with respect to first prin-
ciples, will adopt this course. Besides, it is sufficiently well
known, that I have all along declared myself dissatisfied, and
far from agreeing, with the elements of that philosophy. Ac-
cordingly, it may be supposed that I shall make it my chief
business to controvert a system, whose results have created
such a prejudice against philosophical speculations. Gentle-
men, I shall do no such thing. If I were capable only of this,
I should not be here. I do not think so meanly of my calling.
I willingly commit to others this melancholy task. Melancholy
I call it, for it is always sad to witness even the spontaneous
dissolution of that which has been put together with uncommon
energy. The intellectual and moral world is so divided within
itself, so inclined to anarchy, that one may well be glad, when-
ever a point of union is found, though it be only for a moment.
Still sadder is it, to destroy aught, if one has nothing with
VOL. III. — NO. III.
51


402
[Jan.
Literary Intelligence.
which to replace it. To him who knows only to blame, it is
justly said, “ Do better.” Equally just was the saying of that
man, whom I sincerely regret to find here no longer, among
the living, who, with praiseworthy frankness, declared, “Men
must have a system, and a system can be refuted only by a
system. As long as that which stands is opposed by nothing
stable in the way of substitute, let it stand." *
I agree with him in what he says with respect to system.
Single truths will no longer suffice. It is now well understood,
that, in this way, nothing can be rightly known. He is right,
moreover, in expressing his astonishment at the report, that
the author of the Identitäts-Philosophie had sought an asylum
in history, in a “faith not penetrated by science;" — an asylum
to which his new philosophy was made subservient. But I, too,
on the other hand, may be allowed to wonder that a man, other-
wise so sagacious, before expressing his astonishment, did not
take the trouble to ascertain whether the report in question
was founded in fact. Had he lived, he would have learned,
from the course of these lectures, how wide of the truth was
the impression he had received.
Let it be understood, then, that what is usually called polem-
ics is not the aim of these lectures. If anything of this kind
appear, it will be only collaterally. It is true, I cannot make
the course as instructive as I wish, without, at the same time,
referring to the past, and indicating the progress of preceding
developments. But I shall labor, not so much to show wherein
this man or that man has failed, as to make it apparent wherein
we have all failed, and what we all have wanted, in order to
effect an actual entrance into the promised land of philosophy.
If one has erred more than another, he has dared more. If he
has missed the goal, he has struck out a path which his prede-
cessors had not closed to him.
I am not come to exalt myself above another, but to fulfil
my calling to the end.
The cognition of truth with a full conviction, is so great a
good, that what is usually called reputation, (Eristimation, the
opinion of men, and all the vanity of the world, is not to be
weighed against it.
I wish not to inflict wounds, but to heal the wounds which
German Science has received in a long and honorable conflict;
not spitefully to expose the injuries sustained, but to cause, if
possible, that they shall be forgotten. I wish not to irritate,
but to reconcile; to enter, if possible, as a messenger of peace,
a world so much and so variously divided. I am not here to
destroy, but to build up; to establish a stronghold, where phi-
* Gans, Preface to Hegel's Philosophy of Jurisprudence.


1843.]
403
Schelling's Introductory Lecture.
losophy may henceforth dwell secure. I will build on the
foundations laid by earlier efforts. Nothing shall be lost,
through fault of mine, that genuine science has gained since
Kant. How can I, in particular, renounce the philosophy
which I formerly founded — the discovery of my youth? Not
to replace it with another philosophy, but to supply its deficien-
cies with a new science, hitherto supposed impossible, in order
to reestablish it on its true foundations, — to give it back the
consistency which it has lost by transgressing its bounds, — by
attempting to make a whole of that which could only be a
fragment of a higher whole; - this is the problem and the
aim.
It is a great thing that philosophy, in these days, has become
a universal concern. The very opposition which I have men-
tioned, — the general excitement which I perceived on my
appearance here, -shows that philosophy has ceased to be an
affair of the schools, and has become the business of the
nation. The history of German philosophy is, from the begin-
ning, inwrought with the history of the German people. In
that day when it accomplished the great act of disenthralment,
in the Reformation, it vowed not to rest till whatever is loftiest,
which, till then, had been blindly acknowledged, should be
received into a free cognition, pervaded by Reason, and there
find its true place. In a time of deepest debasement, philoso-
phy held the German erect. Over the ruins of a glory that
had perished, men of power held aloft the banner of German
science, around which were gathered the best of our Youth.
In the schools of philosophy, — who, in this connection, re-
members not Fichte, Schleiermacher ! — many found in philo-
sophical contests the resolution, the courage, the self-possession,
which, in far other battle-fields, were afterward put to the test.
Also, in later times, philosophy has been the German's heritage
and praise. And shall this long and glorious movement end
with shameful wreck? with the overthrow of all great con-
victions, and consequently of philosophy itself? Never! Be-
cause I am a German, — because I have borne upon my heart,
and sympathized with, all the woes and sorrows of Germany,
with all her weal and her success, — therefore am I here.
For the salvation of the Germans is Science.
With such sentiments I have come hither; with no other
weapon but Truth, claiming no other protection but that which
Truth possesses in her own strength, desiring no other right
for myself than that which I freely concede to all — the right
of free inquiry, and an unfettered communication of the found.
So disposed, I enter your midst. I come with all earnestness
of mind and heart. I am in earnest; may they be so who hear
me! I greet you with love; with love receive me! The


404
[Jan.
Record of the Months.
teacher may do much; but he can do nothing without the
scholar. I am nothing without you; nothing, unless you meet
me promptly with receptivity, with zeal, on your part. Here-
with I devote myself to the calling I have undertaken. I shall
live for you, I shall work for you, and not be weary, while a
breath remains in me, and while He permits, without whose
consent not a hair can fall from our heads, much less a deep-
felt word, a genuine product of the inner man, a light-thought
of our minds, for truth and freedom striving, be lost.
RECORD OF THE MONTHS.
Life of Jean Paul Frederic Richter, Compiled from various
Sources, Together with his Auto-biography. Translated from
the German. Boston : Charles C. Little and James Brown.
1842.
German literature is richer and abler in every other depart-
ment than the historical. Not that this field has been wholly
neglected ; but, comparatively speaking, it has been cultivated
with little success. The German histories are mostly philoso-
phies of history, and interest us rather by their speculations,
than by their narrative. There are exceptions, we grant. Mül-
ler's history of Switzerland and Schiller's of the defection of the
Netherlands, and the Thirty Years War, are very remarkable
ones; and there are several others. But such is not the prevail-
ing character of German historical composition. The Germans
are more given to speculate than to narrate. Their very novels,
Lafontaine's, Lamotte-Fouqué's Jean Paul's, Tieck's, are not
so much stories as they are theories of life.
This defect in the German library is most remarkable, and
most to be lamented, as it regards distinguished individuals,
who have become important to us through their works, and
who, in consequence of this defect, are suffered to pass without
any further record. "Biography, memoir, the whole literature of
personalities, in which the French and the English are so fluent,
seems uncongenial with the German mind. Is it their inveterate
tendency, to generalize individual traits into formal characteris-
tics, which sinks the individual in the class ? Or is it the habit
of seeking in all things the indwelling principle, in all phenome-
na the noumenon, in all persons the idea personified, which leads
them to overlook and slight the accidental and merely extensive
in the life of man? The point is worth considering. We have


1843.]
405
The Life of Jean Paul.
no time for it now, but we should like to consider it in some
future number, time and mood permitting.
Meanwhile, this idealistic tendency of the Germans has served
to throw around their great men, a mystery exceedingly unsatis-
factory to English readers, who insist on following the great
man off the stage, into his study, his drawing room, his nursery,
his very kitchen ; and who never think they are acquainted with
him till they know something of his family, his furniture and
his table-talk. On all these points, the literary history of Ger-
many is, for the most part, profoundly silent. Her philosophers
have found no Boswell, her poets no Johnson.
The latter defect has been supplied, in the case of Schiller, by
Carlyle's excellent biography; and the author or authoress (if
she will permit us so far to invade her privacy) of the work be-
fore us, has performed a similar office for the antipode of Schiller
the rare, the einziger Jean Paul.
An acquaintance of twenty years' standing with this, our favor.
ite author, had prepared us to welcome a work of which he was
the subject. Accordingly we seized with some eagerness on
these two volumes, and we have read them with a satisfaction
equal to that with which we received their first announcement
from the press. We can speak of them frankly, as a worthy
tribute to a great name. The first condition of a good biography
is, that the biographer comprehend his subject; and this con-
dition has, we think, been fully satisfied in the present instance.
The author has surveyed her hero from a point, sufficiently with-
in the sphere of his own spirit, and at the same time, sufficiently
removed from indiscriminate adoration, to insure a correct esti-
mate of his proportions. Equal justice has been done to the
nature of the man and to his position. She has placed herself
in rapport with that great soul, and traced to psychological
idioms, inborn and inbred, the prevailing Jean-Paulisms of his
life and works. At the same time, she has diligently considered
the influence of contemporary minds and external condition ;
and made her look not less valuable as a contribution to the
literary history of Germany, than it is, as a biography of Jean
Paul.
We should like to extract largely, but must content ourselves
with the author's closing remarks.
“ The reader may be surprised that I have uniformly called Jean
Paul a poet ; but if the definition of poet be, one that gives expres-
sion to what others feel ;' one, who interprets that in the heart, which,
like the inarticulate lisping of the child, cannot be made known for
want of adequate expression, then he as truly deserves the name of
poet, as if every line he has written were measured, and rhymed with
another line. His great heart beat with the united pulses of all hu-
man hearts. He is the truest interpreter of joy and sorrow, love and


406
[Jan.
Record of the Months.
grief; and all those hidden feelings that are revealed by the poet, as
the sunbeam penetrates the mine, and shews its hidden treasures.
“Finally, no poet's inward life is more distinctly made known than
Jean Paul's, in his works. In his elevated characters ; in his Gustavus,
his Albano, his Dehore. Like a solitary sage he looked out from his
hermitage upon the ever-swelling and rushing waves of the literature
and politics of that remarkable period in which he lived. Unmoved
by its passions, still and calm, he was like a holy prophet of its issue.
Glowing for freedom, truth, and the happiness of man, yet never fail-
ing in the clearness of his understanding, or the firmness of his will.
Full of scorn and hatred of all servility and all tyranny, yet ever free
from the folly and madness of enthusiasm. With impartiality and
justice he weighed the advantages of this world in the same scales in
which he had placed the hopes of another.
“I have seen a cast of the Alps, a few feet square, in which moun-
tain and valley, river and lake, are represented in their true position
and just proportions. The avalanche, the cataract, and the shepherd's
little hut are there; nothing is added, though much is left out; but ah,
how inadequate to represent those giant palaces of nature, those glori-
ous masses of light and color, rising in the blue depths of ether, close
neighbors to the stars. Such a representation the present biography
must bear to the real Jean Paul. May it induce those who have the
power, to become acquainted with him in his works." — Vol. II.,
pp. 322, 323,
We have had no opportunity of comparing with their origi-
nals, the translations from the German ; but they bear internal
evidence of correctness. The errors we have noticed are mostly
errors of the press, and these, we regret to say, are very frequent.
An Essay on Transcendentalism. Boston: Crocker and Rug-
gles. 1842. 12mo. pp. 104.
WHEREFORE should the author of this little tract have with-
held his name from the public eye on this occasion ? He is
evidently not in his writing noviciate. He is not of mean
talent, and he is not unconscious of the fact. He is clear,
instructive, poetic, warm, religious, in his statements. The
subject is worthy, the style is worthy; but it seems the public
is not yet worthy of the author's confidence. There is cer-
tainly somewhat apologetic in the tone of the work; and no
man can unblushingly utter an apology to an audience, when
he is quite aware that the apology, if any need be offered at all,
should come from the audience. The prologue to a serious
drama, as well as harlequin, may sometimes be masked.
If the world were in as good and pleasant a humor with the
transcendentalist, as the transcendentalist is with the world, he
would not need thus hide his modest face. It would be happier, too,


1843.]
407
Record of the Months.
for the world, if it were so good-humored. The loss of happi-
ness is on that side, not on that of the unaccepted individual.
With the loss of so much happiness, the self-wise world is also
deprived of as much intelligence, and an equality of exalted
and pure occupation. The cunning folks of this generation
keep always some bugbear word, wherewith to frighten the
growing young children of affection to bed, — to the bed of
sensliousness, — and, of this scornful dictionary “Transcen-
dentalism" is now the chosen current epithet. There is some
sign of progress, however, in the attribution of a name, sneer-
ingly or persecutingly as it may be bestowed. The world will
shortly begin to suspect that it may mean something; that
there is possibly some reality behind the name; and this little
book may aid the search of the sincere soul, though it offers
but a plan“ in little" of the wide field. In nine brief essays,
or rather notices or notes, most assuredly, the subject cannot
be exhausted. Explained even it can scarcely be, unless the
observing mind is already more prepared than merely recipient.
In what point of this boundless prairie of human investiga-
tion shall the inquiry be commenced ? Many associates you
require not; many you will not have. Not the place, not the
mode, but the spirit in which we work, is the important ques-
tion. Are we to apologize? No. Are we to dispute? No.
Are we to condemn? No. Neither are we to fear, to trim,
to conform, for the purpose of gathering a multitude, or of
pleasing one when gathered.
It may be easier to make way with the public, to gain its
favor, and to appear to effect an approximation, or to fill up the
void of ignorance, of unconsciousness, by the adoption of terms
which it understands, or thinks it understands. But, in this
procedure, there is delusion on both sides. The traveller who
has never seen a railway would have no nearer comprehension
of it, if the directors were to call the terminus a booking-office,
and the several stations by the old name of inns. Transcen-
dental facts, then, it must be honestly avowed, cannot be com-
prehended by souls on the nether side of existence. But the
willing may be helped. If, in accommodation to popular
speech, you descend from the antecedent unity, through the
eternal, indivisible trine, and say that “man has a triple na-
ture, animal, rational, spiritual," — your auditor will ask you
who or what the man is who has or possesses this triple nature?
Is he it, or something different from it? Does he possess this
triple nature as a distinct existence, apart from himself, the
soul, the will, — from that unitive point which is his essential
self? Better to let the original perplexity remain, informing us
that there is more yet to be solved and known, than delude
ourselves with a false explanation.


408
(Jan.
Record of the Months.
In his love for simplicity, clearness, and despatch, man is
liable to fall into some serious errors. Despotic tyranny is
simpler, clearer, and quicker, than deliberative justice. Our
popular metaphysical systems are, it must be confessed, emi-
nently despotic, but their justice has yet to be questioned.
Antecedent to all utterances, transcendent of all time, space,
and motion, primal to spirit, originative of soul, creative to
body; everlasting, eternal, illimitable; indescribable in any
terms, these we use or other, - is the One, the Underived, the
Unit - GOD.
Of the unutterable, only negative words can be used, which
declare their inadequacy while they are used. No research
can seek out the unsearchable. The inscribed figure cannot
produce itself beyond the sphere which bounds it. The forms
which lie next it may, however, be spoken of.
Man, then, cannot with so much verisimilitude be said to
have a triple nature, as that he is a triune being. Man is not
only a triune being, but he is a tri-triune being. Let ridicule
make of the affirmative whatsoever it may, the faithful student
finds that not only can he agree with our retiring author, that
man is animal, rational, spiritual, but can assert that he is, in
each of these subordinate spheres of being, a coördinate tri-
unity. Man truly is united or oned, or one with the indivisible
triune, Love, Wisdom, Power ; in Spirit, as the divisible yet
undivided Love, Wisdom, Power ; in Soul, as affection, under-
standing, force; in Body, as heart, head, hands.
We repeat
The eternal triune..... LOVE
Spirit .... Love
Man ... Soul ..... Affection
(Body . . . . Heart
The material triune . . . . Depth
WISDOM POWER
Wisdom
Power
Understanding Force
Head
Hands
Length : Breadth
Thus wide, at least, or wider if you will, is the Creator and
the creation. Confining himself, however, to the two lower
grades in our being, the mental philosopher, the metaphysician,
has never raised his contemplation to aught above the soul.
Most inquirers have, like Locke, limited themselves, and, as far
as they speculatively could, all humanity, to the bounds of in-
tellect, asserting, with him, that “the understanding is the
highest faculty of the soul.” All who have ventured affirma-
tions from the higher level have been saluted with epithets
intended to be condemnatory, such as “ fanatic," “mystic,”
“theosopher," and now, it seems, “transcendentalist.”


1843.]
409
Record of the Months.
The soul, as we have above depicted it, is the sphere of
idealities, both sympathetic and intellectual. This is the psy-
chical ground, or nature, where occur the sectionalities and
divisionalities in which metaphysicians agree to disagree. But
man cannot be satisfied in remaining here. The soul cannot
be filled by self-contemplation. The soul hungereth and thirst-
eth after something else, something higher and better than
itself, yet like unto itself, or rather that unto which it is like.
Your moral philosopher, your metaphysician in ordinary, dis-
dains giving any advice, assistance, or direction, towards this
higher supply. It thus devolves on the“ fanatic," the “ zealot,"
the “transcendentalist,” to exercise this loveful mission.
The metaphysician entertains only the power and under-
standing of the soul, and these he treats for the greater part as
derived from nature, through or by means of the body. The
moralist does, indeed, widen his observations so as to include
the psychic affections, but he is still only an experimental phi-
losopher, and founds, or pretends to found, all his axioms on
experiment, chiefly external, though he does not always wholly
exclude the internal.
The sensible race of philosophers is, however, a large one.
They are the popular class. They feel themselves to be too
strong in numbers to be put down, and, at the same time, they
join their well-compacted forces to those of the unphilosophical,
and make a combined effort to suppress any exposition of being
which transcends their contemplation. The sensible philoso-
phers — that is to say, they who confine their philosophy to
what they acquire, or seem to acquire, through their senses —
are, in fact, the visionaries, while they labor to cast this oppro-
brium upon more steadfast minds. They believe, they say,
only what they see. They are therefore merely speculators.
They have no faith, no reliance on being. What is tangible to
the hands, visible to the eyes, that they feel, that they see, that
they know.
But the combination of a whole world of sensuous minds
against one transcendental soul will not move him. He is not
an opponent to them. He sees all they see; he admits all their
facts on their ground, but this admission leaves untouched,
unimpeached, that other and higher class of facts, and that
reality in being, which the mere moral philosopher declares
he knows not of, and the existence of which he stoutly denies.
Not only does the sphere of action differ in these two parties,
but the point of origin is very different in each. The external
observer, of course, contemplates all from an exoteric point,
and such psychic life as he admits he builds on a physical basis.
VOL. III. — NO. III.
52


410
[Jan.
Record of the Months.
The internal realizer dates all from the esoteric centre, and
construes every fact affirmatively and synthetically. Concern-
ing the merits of these two schools they themselves may differ
interminably.
Frequently and urgently as the esoteric man may declare of
real existence, of substance-being, the exoteric man will be
able to perceive only a difference in mode, and will of course
stand up for the clarity of his own. There is, however, nothing
more certain to the transcendentalist, than the fact, that there
is something more in all this than a verbal difference. When-
ever it is brought against him as an accusation of dwelling in
a mere peculiarity in words, a feeling more sacred than self-
complacency accepts it, as an acknowledgment of short-coming
in him who wills to be an opponent, for of opposition the tran-
scendentalist is guiltless. Position only, and not opposition, is
predicable of him. The universality in him finds a place for all
philosophies, all opinions, all views. Transcending them, it
does not exclude, but it includes them. His claim to a close
relation with the universal, with the unity, would be poorly es-
tablished if he must needs find obstacles in aught that exists.
The true artist, he in whom art is vitally, instinctly, creatively,
finds no hindrances in surrounding matter. The utmost he
declares is of facilities, that they are greater or less.
Transcendentalism is not “hostile to old systems,” though it
would supersede them by better life. It does not attempt “to
show that the old philosophy is altogether false and hollow, the
old systems of metaphysics to be absurd, our moral code unjust,
our religion but empty show and idle ceremony, that the old
forms of government have no foundation in reason.” (p. 27).
It does not “propose to reform the world;" although that sup-
position being current, it may “ be unpopular and fiercely at-
tacked.” (p. 28 )
No! The true transcendentalist has higher, nobler, lovelier
work, than that of warring with the past, or abusing the present.
His best employment is not that of reforming a deformed world,
though it sin to the quick of self-condemnation. It belongs not
to him to put forth a system, a mere new system, subject to all
the worthless vicissitudes of systems in being “imperfectly de-
veloped, misunderstood, and misrepresented.” His only occu-
pation is to affirm Being. Of, from, and in being, he constantly
asserts being. His mission is not an attack on erroneous sys-
tems, and depraved men. He is an instrument, a medium of
being to being. The Being in him utters to Being in other
souls. As far as he is found in the regions of opposition, he is
not a transcendentalist, but a metaphysician, a wrangler. As
the practical philosopher transcends action and matter by ob-


1843.)
411
Record of the Months.
servation and knowledge, so the transcendentalist transcends
observation and knowledge by being. Both doing and knowing,
works and faith are transcended, not annihilated nor opposed,
by being.
Transcendentalism is not a mere system opposed to other or
to antiquated systems; but it signifies that Love-Spirit, that
Life-Power, which uses all systems now presented, and devel-
opes new systems as they are required. Its ascent, or transcent,
would be poor and worthless if it did not surmount all systems,
which are but modulations in the department of human knowl-
edge, and never can amount to realities in human being. If
doctrine it must be designated, this is then the transcendental
doctrine: it is the substantive, indwelling Spirit in the soul, the
real conscience, the religious nature, the source of the inner
light, the veritable true, good, and beautiful, not as perception,
as contemplation, but as substance, as being.
Letters of Schiller, selected from his private Correspondence prior
to his Marriage. Translated by J. L. WEISSE. Boston:
S. N. Dickinson, Printer, 62 Washington street. 1841.
We are desirous to attract attention to this little volume, as
few persons seem to have observed its appearance, and it is of a
character to bring pleasure to almost any reader.
A brief yet sufficient account of its contents is given in the
introduction.
These Letters will be interesting to the admirers of Schiller, as
showing him in his youth, struggling with the adverse circumstances
that surrounded him, and displaying without disguise the true workings
of his heart. They are written to persons from whom he had no re-
serve. Perhaps a higher opinion of his genius might be derived from
his more finished works; but from none could we learn so well to know
intimately the great poet, as when we see him, as here in the spring-
time of his ardent feelings, among those nearest and dearest to him.
The Letters close with his marriage, and the ideas scattered through
them have a youthful freshness that more than compensates for any
want of reflection they may display, and a charm peculiarly attractive
to any one who loves to search into the hidden recesses of a great soul."
It is easy to admire and love Schiller; no man need sacrifice
his self-love to do so. His character had no intricate windings,
no hidden vales, or caves, whether of beauty or terror. It was
simple, powerful, affectionate, heroic, fit for the life of a citizen
or patriotic bard.
Still, though he never gives us a clue into the world of myste-
ries, of causes, he is always clear and interesting. It is very


412
[Jan.
Record of the Months,
pleasant to turn over another page of his history, and see his
thoughts presented to us in his usual frank and direct fashion.
It is refreshing in a world of half feelings, of tedious subterfuges,
to greet one like Schiller, whom any man may feel at liberty to
love. He might be our next-door neighbor; we could go and
see him when we pleased, we should not fear to intrude; he
would tell us if we were not wanted.
But heroes, though they may be eloquent, are not practical.
Schiller was not. The inspiration of his works is in their lofty
sentiment and aspiration; the subtle, fashioning spirit of poetry
was unknown to him. It is pleasant to see how simple and cit-
izen-like his views of life were. On the subject of marriage it
is perhaps a little surprising that the bard of Max and Thekla
was not more ideal, even at the earliest age. The charm of these
two fair beings, indeed, is in their pure, and unspotted inno-
cence. Still the spell of a preëxistent harmony seems upon
them, and we cannot well conceive of Thekla's finding another
Mar. But Schiller, with his views, might have married any
amiable woman, and gone about the world, like many another
respectable person, seeking not a love, but a wife.
It is surprising, too, to see him write with a sort of shame of
an attachment from which he had recovered. One would ex-
pect from a character like Schiller's, the steadfast strength to
feel that its past stages, however extravagant and imperfect, had
been necessary to its growth, and by giving it vent, had raised
him above the passion he now could criticise.
Of friendship his views read more nobly. I know not that we
can find any passage that deserves better to be laid to heart than
the following, where in few words are shown the union of pride,
modesty, and tenderness, natural to a great, but also human, be-
ing.
"Your last letter has placed an imperishable memento of you in my
heart. You are the noble man, whom I have so long wanted, and who
is wanting to possess me with all my weaknesses and blighted virtues ;
for he will bear with the former, and honor the latter with tears. I am
not what I certainly inight have become. I might perhaps have been
great, but fate struggled too early against me. You esteem and love
me for that which I might perhaps have become under better stars, and
you respect in me the intention that Providence has thwarted."
This is the trust of soul to soul which goes deepest. But he
understood other stages or sorts of friendship, as shown in the
very next letter, to another person.
"I find the ways of Heaven strange in this ; eight years we were
obliged to be together and were indifferent; now we are separated, and
have become important to each other. Which of us two could then,
even in prospect, have divined the hidden threads, that should once and


1843.]
413
Record of the Months.
forever draw us so firmly together ? — but perhaps even this mutual es-
trangement was the work of a wiser Providence, that we should know
each other first, when we were worthy to be known. Both of us, yet
unformed, would have too soon observed too many weaknesses in one
another, and might never have become warmed to each other. Esteem
is the only unfailing bond of friendship, and this we had both of us to
earn. In every way we have now arrived at this end, and find ourselves
here with delight. You have taken the first step, and I blush before
you. I have always understood less how to acquire friends, than when
acquired, to retain."
The effect of his enforced and outward toils on Schiller, are
more visible here than in letters of a later date. With him, as
with others, came uses from uncongenial labor, infusing salt and
steel, hardening the fibre, and assaying the ore of his thoughts,
by repression and delay. Materials, too, that he would not of
himself have collected, when once beneath his eye, became a
new thread for his web. But though some of this is well, too
much may perfect the character but stifle the genius. The
hand that has to hold the plough too long, becomes too stiff and
clumsy for the lyre or pen. Those who cannot give up their
natural dower, who want to accomplish the task nature assigned
them, and steal from the night what the day refuses, pay with
their lives for their soul, truly the price of blood, and so did
Schiller. His character was too fervent and earnest to take
things easily, or skim over the surface of any mode of life, and
so he suffered, and died early. But we do not mourn for him as
for many others, for the tree had borne some of its proper fruit,
if not as much as it might under more favorable circumstances.
It is impossible to set a bound to what he might have accom-
plished, had his great and steady impulses been seconded by
firmer health, and length of days, yet, in the eighteen volumes of
his works, and in his letters, we possess more than we shall
easily learn how to prize.
Fables of La Fontaine. Translated from the French. By ELIZUR
Wright, Jr. 2 vols. 12mo. Boston: Tappan and Dennett. 1842.
We have found these volumes very pleasant reading. The transla-
tion appears to be executed with great wit and sprightliness, and, for
the most part, a happy employment of the English idioms. Occasion-
ally a verse of unusual vigor occurs ; as when, in the fable of “The
Oak and the Reed,” the Oak brags,-
6. The while, my towering form
Dares with the mountain top
The solar blaze to stop,
And wrestle with the storm."


414
[Jan.
Record of the Months.
We are reminded, in this connexion, of an excellent old English ver-
sion of “The Lark and the Reapers,” which we lately met with, which
proves how inexhaustible are these slight themes. When the lark has
quieted the fears of her young, who inform her that the farmer has ap-
plied to his friends for aid, -
“ Then up she clam the clowdes
With such a lusty saye,
That it rejoyste her younglinges heartes
As in their neast they laye;
And much they did commende
Their mother's lofty gate,
And thought it long til time had brought
Themselves to such estate."
The conclusion of the same fable in the present version is lively
enough. When at length the farmer and his boys resolve to reap the
field themselves, –
“ All, fluttering, soaring, often grounding,
Decamped without a trumpet sounding."
These volumes, we think, are sure of a lasting popularity with the
young, and will no doubt make acceptable Christmas and New Year's
presents.
Confessions of St. Augustine. Boston: E. P. Peabody.
We heartily welcome this reprint from the recent London edition,
which was a revision, by the Oxford divines, of an old English transla-
tion. It is a rare addition to our religious library. The great Augus-
tine, - one of the truest, richest, subtlest, eloquentest of authors, comes
now in this American dress, to stand on the same shelf with his far-
famed disciples, with A-Kempis, Herbert, Taylor, Scougal, and Fen-
elon. The Confessions have also a high interest as one of the honest-
est autobiographies ever written. In this view it takes even rank with
Montaigne's Essays, with Luther's Table Taik, the Life of John Bun-
yan, with Rousseau's Confessions, and the Life of Dr. Franklin. In
opening the book at random, we have fallen on his reflections on the
death of his early friend.
“O madness, which knowest not how to love men like men! I fret.
ted, sighed, wept, was distracted, had neither rest nor counsel. For I
bore about a shattered and bleeding soul, impatient of being borne by
me, yet where to repose it I found not. All things looked ghastly;
yea, the very light; whatsoever was not what he was, was revolting
and hateful, except groaning and tears. In those alone found I a little
refreshment. I fled out of my country; for so should nine eyes look
less for him where they were not wont to see him. And thus from
Thagaste I came to Carthage. Times lose no time; nor do they roll
idly by ; through our senses they work strange operations on the mind.
Behold, they went and came day by day, and by coming and going in-
troduced into my mind other imaginations and other remembrances;


1843.]
415
Record of the Months.
and little by little patched me up again with my old kind of delights
unto which that my sorrow gave way. And yet there succeeded not
indeed other griefs, yet the causes of other griefs. For whence had
that former grief so easily reached my inmost soul but that I had
poured out my soul upon the dust in loving one, that must die, as if he
would never die. For what restored and refreshed me chiefly, was the
solaces of other friends with whom I did love what instead of thee I
loved : and this was a great fable and protracted lie, by whose adulter-
ous stimulus our soul, which lay itching in our ears, was defiled. But
that fable would not die to me so oft as any of my friends died. There
were other things which in them did more take my mind; to talk and
jest together; to do kind offices by turns; to read together honied
books; to play the fool or be earnest together; to dissent at times
the seldoinness of those dissentings, to season our more frequent con-
sentings; sometimes to teach, and sometimes learn; long for the ab-
sent with impatience, and welcome the coming with joy." — Book 4.
A Discourse on Popular Lectures, pronounced before the Literary Socie-
ties of the University of Vermont, Aug. 3, 1842. By Calvin PEASE.
Burlington : C. Goodrich.
The Connexion of Taste and Morals ; Two Lectures. By Mark Hop-
KINS, D. D. Second Edition. Boston: Tappan and Dennet.
Observations on the Presidential Veto; Together with a Plan for a
Change of the Constitution relative to this Power. Boston: J. Mun-
roe & Co. pp. 78.
The Beggar of the Pont des Arts ; translated from the German. Bos-
ton: James Munroe & Co.; and
The Career of Puffer Hopkins. By Cornelius Mathews. New York:
A Book of the school of Dickens, and a designed by the author to
be national in its features.” As we are obliged to keep our novels un-
cut against the rainy days, we have not yet looked far enough into these
stories to have an opinion to offer.
Poems on Slavery. By H. W. LONGFELLOW.
The thinnest of all Mr. Longfellow's thin books ; spirited and pol-
ished, like its forerunners; but the topic would warrant a deeper tone.


416
[Jan.
Record of the Months.
Lowell Offering for December.
We are happy to learn that our modest and far-famed contemporary
has a large and increasing subscription.
We are indebted to English correspondents for some valuable gifts,
whose safe arrival is all that we can now acknowledge, though some of
them will yet have froin us a considered record, as significant facts in
literary and spiritual history. From J. A. Heraud, Esq. we have re-
ceived three volumes of the Monthly Magazine for 1839, 1840, and 1841.
From Hugh Doherty, Esq. the London Phalanx, Volume I. 1041 – 2,
folio. Introduction to English Grammar, on Universal Principles. By
Hugh Doherty. Life of Charles Fourier. By Hugh Doherty. Le
Nouveau Monde Industriel, 2 vols. 12mo. Bruxelles, 1840. From
Charles Bray, Esq. The Philosophy of Necessity. By Charles Bray. 2
vols. 8vo. London, 1841. The second volume of this work contains a
valuable appendix, exhibiting the history of the successive social ex-
periments of St. Simon, Fourier, Owen, and others, in Europe and
America. From other friends we have received An Inquiry Concern-
ing the Origin of Christianity. By Charles C. Hennell. Second Edition.
London, 1841. Christian Theism. By C. C. Hennell. 1 vol. Evo.
Theology of the Old Testament, translated from the German of George
Lorenz Bauer.
GOETHE AND SWEDENBORG.
A CORRESPONDENT has called our attention to the following passage
in Swedenborg's Arcana, as containing an anticipation of Goethe's
Theory of Color. The Goethean idea, it will be remembered, is that
there is but one primary, namely, white light, and the negative dark-
ness, and that color is the mixture of these two. In the Arcana Coel-
estia, sect. 1042, Swedenborg writes: “In order to the existence of
color, there must needs be some substance darkish and brightish, or
black and white, on which, when the rays of light from the sun fall,
according to the various tenperature of the dark and bright, or black
and white, from the modification of the influent rays of light, there ex-
ist colors, some of which take more or less from the darkish and black,
some more or less from the brightish and white, and hence arises their
diversity.”
ERRATUM.
In the Dial for October, p. 213. 1. 32, for [Confessions of the Moderator,] read (Con-
fessions of a witness to the Moderator.]


THE DIAL.
VOL. III.
A PRIL, 1843.
No. IV.
A. BRONSON ALCOTT'S WORKS.*
When criticism best attains its end, it is an adjunct to
authorship of no trifling pertinency. The true author, —
the really original writer, — the first discoverer, — essen-
tially stands above his age. His value to the world con-
sists in his superiority to it. By as much as he more nobly
speaks out of the new, is he the instrument for the reani-
mation and progression of the old. To the same extent
also is he liable to be misunderstood, misrepresented, slight-
ed, or rejected.
At this juncture the interpreter's function legitimately
commences. It is the true critic's endeavor to bridge the
waters which separate the prophet from the people, to
compass the distance which divides the understanding in
the auditor from the intuition in the utterer. The inspired
oracle never indulges in a vain expression. .
All the sayings of Genius are oracular; all the actions
of Originality are inspired. The destiny of the genuinely
inspired soul is always to be doubted, or despised, or per-
secuted in its own day and nation. Not born for years or
localities only, but for all times and places, it must await
as wide a welcome. We see that this skepticism, or un-
friendliness, is necessarily manifested. by the very law of
* Conversations with Children on the Gospels; conducted and edited
by A. Bronson Alcott. 2 vols. · Boston: James Munroe & Co. 1836 - 7.
Record of a School; Exemplifying the General Principles of Spiritual
Culture. pp. 208. Boston: James Munroe & Co. 1835. Second Edi-
tion, 1836.
Spiritual Culture; or Thoughts for the Consideration of Parents and
Teachers. Boston: J. Dowe. 1841.
VOL. II). — NO. IV.
53


418
[April,
A. Bronson Alcott's Works.
originality itself; and just in a degree coequal to the ex-
tent or depth of the originality. The greatest, the divinest
genius is persecuted to death, even unto ignominious death;
a moderate degree of inspiration is merely hunted through
the world; a lighter share of originality is allowed to waste
itself in neglected poverty and soul-chilling solitude. · For
it is not, we surmise, always true that the measure of the
world's acceptance of genius is the index to the profundity
of that generic love. Had it been so, the world ere now
would have been in a more loveful position than sell-con-
fessedly it is. Loveful utterances in the deepest tone,
loveful actions in the gentlest manner, have been spoken
and enacted in the world's theatre, and the records of them
still remain, kindly appealing to humanity for a response.
Yet it comes not. Or, at the utmost, as in the mimic the-
atre, the spectators vehemently applaud each virtuous rep-
resentation as it passes before their eyes, but as instantly
forget it. Influences pass over humanity as the wind over
the young trees; but the evanescent air is not the abiding
sap. Manifestations of genius have not generally induced
men to seek a closer union with the genetic power. We
lack even imitative amendment.
Scarcely, therefore, can it be granted that the want of
success, which so frequently characterizes the career of
genius, is attributable either to any deficiency of love or'
want of exponential ability on its side. Something, nay
much, depends on the construction of the receptive vessel.
The finest wine must be inevitably spilt, if poured upon a
solid marble sphere ; not even nectar itself could be re-
tained in a seive; and let us recollect that genius is ever
too ready to pour forth its offerings, to consider critically
the state or nature of the receiving mind. The mind sup-
posed to be recipient will be found not seldom to be re-
pellant, and even when frankly disposed to receive, often
finds the task too difficult at once to comprehend that
which emanates from the progressed being. The sun stead-
ily shines on, though by its beams the swamp exhales
miasma as the peach deliciously ripens.
Undoubtedly the self-complacent auditor may construct
a fensive axiom, or what is familiarly designated a truism,
and pronounce that if genius had love enough, it never
could appeal to us in vain ; with love enough, the most


1843.)
419
strong-hearted must be moved. This is of course a tena.
ble position. With two such excellent diplomatic “ peace-
making ” words in one sentence as “ if” and “enough,"
no doubt can be raised against the veracity of the aphor-
ism. But in our estimation that code of morals does not
rank very high, which would establish a divine origin by
proof drawn from the results of the action. It is needful
to act, to act morally, genetically, generatively, before results
can be, and all the results can never be known to the indi-
vidual. Confirmation may possibly, in some points, be gath-
ered from observance of consequences, but it is rare that
anything beyond matter for useful and modificative reflection
can be gleaned from that field.
No; it is sadly, sorrowfully true, that there are rocks so
adamantine, brutes so untamable, that not even Orpheus
himself, in his most celestial mood, can subdue them by the
softest notes from his enchanting lyre. Our reproaches,
therefore, shall not fall upon the love-inspired teacher because
the taught are not more highly adtempered than we find
them. Indeed, we will reproach none, not even ourselves;
for the interpreter, albeit his position is more temporary
and local, has his proper time and place.
• There is a converse notion, however, rather too com
monly adopted by active minds, wishful enough of good
in their respective ways, but not yet sufficiently stable to
be replenished with the needful talent; and our duty leads
us to declare its idiotism. The bustling interloper, the
mechanical rhymester, or the verbal handicraftsman, finding
no reception in the world corresponding to his self-appro-
bative desires, is wont to assume the position of neglected
or persecuted genius, because men of genius have, as we
also affirm, time out of mind, been public victims. A
playwright is not a Shakspeare, merely because in common
with the gifted bard he knows “a little Latin, and less
Greek.” A religious zealot, even respectable as he may
be in morals, and we say it with genuine, heartfelt respect
for all zeal, has not always the inspired right to assume the
crown of martyrdom, merely because he is opposed in the
world. Not all are Christ's who fall under man's disappro-
bation. Oddity is not a sure certificate of worth, though
the worthy must of course be singular where ills abound.
The-unauthorized authors, the uninspired teachers, are in


420
[April,
A. Bronson Alcott's Works.
fact themselves the persecutors; and to their ears let the
truth be whispered, that while the false prophet endeavors
to raise a public clamor concerning his supposed oppres-
sions, true genius silently suffers.
When with honesty, integrity, and clearness, the critical
interpreter's work is performed, the public are not a little
assisted to a just appreciation of generic ideas of a really
spirit. In every department of literature and art, there is
much debris to be turned over to discover the solitary jew-
el; much dusty winnowing is needful for the separation of
the true germinative grains. No extent of labor is however
too great, if the above named conditions are complied with.
These observations appear to be called for, as introduc-
tory and explanatory of our present purpose. In some
degree appropriate to any mental production, they are pe-
culiarly applicable to the case before us. The fate of na-
tions, as of individuals, is ever to look abroad for that
which they might find at home. Articles of food, dress,
ornament; new cloth, new patterns, new ideas, are to be
imported by ship, instead of being wrought from our native
soil or soul. That, which is brought from a distance by
great labor, is, for no better reason, highly esteemed, while
the spontaneous home product is unused. By the same
law, the native prophet is unhonored; the domestic author
is neglected.
Goethe, in his father land, after many industrious years
of exposition, earns a moderate respect, while in England
his mystic profundity is appreciated, and in America he is
placed on the pinnacle of renown.
: Carlyle, in his native England coldly and slowly admit-
ted to the ranks of genius, in America is kindly regarded
as one of the brightest stars in the literary horizon..
· And, not to mention others, Alcott, almost utterly neg.
lected by contemporaries, must seek his truer appreciation
beyond the great waters; and in the quietest nook in Old
England behold the first substantial admission of his claim
to be considered the exponent of a divinely inspired idea.
New England, failing in honor to her children, and having
no newer and more youthful country to accept and reflect
their merits, may receive the award of the old land.
· The first really spontaneous, vital, and actual welcome,


1843.]
421
Practice.
which Bronson Alcott's mission has enjoyed in its full
meaning and intent, appears to have been in the bosoms
of those friends, who established the School called after his
name at Ham in the county of Surrey, a few miles only
from the huge metropolis of England. At Ham, “ umbra-
geous Hain," as the poets truly designate it, which lies
between the heights of classic Richmond with its extensive
stately park, and the gentle silvery Thames, these sincere
projectors carried out a living example of Alcott's idea of
human culture, in some practical particulars exceeding the
experience of the original, but in intrinsic merit confessedly
falling short of those permanent moral and intellectual re-
sults, which singularize this recorded effort at the Boston
Masonic Temple. This choice of a beautiful locality we
mention, because it may be received as an emblem of the
fidelity and unmercenary purpose of these earnest promo-
ters of human welfare. But the heart to appreciate, the
head to perceive the means, and the hands to execute a
new and noble sentiment are not commonly united in one
individual. There is, moreover, that useful quality of per-
severance not always present, that day by day, hour by
hour steadiness and care, meeting each event as it occurs,
without which no abiding work of art can be produced.
Heartfelt admiration is too ready to conclude that the
highly finished statue, whose beauty is perceived at a glance,
was as momentarily produced. So smoothly do the
thoughts and versification of the poet glide on through his
argument, that the encharmed reader questions not that it
was as briefly written as it is read. It is so easy, who
could not do it? This is the perfection of executive art.
The pencils, the colors, the easel are removed. The
blurred manuscripts, over which the author toiled so many
days and nights, in polishing the Carrara marble of his
verse into smooth turns and agreeable attitudes, are with-
drawn from sight, and the pleasing result unclouded re-
mains. This is the difference between genius and the
generator ; between God and man. The idea is unques-
tionably impregnated by the divine mind on the human
soul at a flash; at an instant of time whose duration is too
short to be capable of measurement; and it may therefore
be more truly said to be conceived in eternity than in
time. But the outworking of the idea is a temporal work ;


422
(April,
A. Bronson Alcott's Works.
and assiduity is constantly an attribute in true genius.
The seed, buried in the dark earth, germinates, under the
favorable conditions of spring, at some inappreciable point in
time. Of the radiant sun at noon, while we say it
is, it is not. Thus of every deific manifestation. But
to man is awarded another course. Through the law of
industry he is to elaborate those divinely generated con-
ceptions, to whose inbirth time is not attributable.
The God-born idea is not an impulsion, but an inspira-
tion; not a personal pleasure, but a univeral happiness.
It is not a fluctuative influence, as is frequently fancied,
which comes sometimes and then departs. It is not a
momentary stimulus, which urges us this morning to write
a book, to build a church, or to visit the sick ; and this
afternoon leaves us tired or disgusted with the effort.
Quite the contrary. It is a permanent, abiding, substantial
pressure, which allows not the youthful artist to dissipate
the holy mornings of spring in dreams of deeds he never
will realize, but continually energizes his soul to action.
Impulse is more dangerous than steady inanition. Dull
unpretension never will mislead; but the impulsive and
influential, the sometimes good, the wavering, are on all
occasions, both to themselves and their susceptible neigh-
bors, sources of diappointment and unhappiness.
Cordial therefore as was the joy with which the idea of
a deep and true spirit-culture was hailed on this occasion,
the satisfactory results were not throughout obtained, in
default of efficient human instruments. * Those who re-
* The following letter from the late Mr. Greaves to Mr. Alcott
confirms our remarks, and well deserves insertion in this place.
49 Burton Street, Burton Crescent,
London, 16th September, 1837. 3
Dear Sir,
Believing the Spirit has so far established its nature in you,
as to make you willingly to co-operate with itself in Love-oper.
ations, I am induced, without apology, to address you as a friend
and companion in the hidden path of Love's most powerful rer-
elations. “The Record of a School” having fallen into my
hands, through Miss Harriet Martineau, I have perused it with
deep interest ; and the object of my present address to you, (oc-
casioned by this work,) is to obtain a more intimate acquaint-
ance with one, in our Sister Land, who is so divinely and uni-


1843.]
423
Practice.
ceived most truly were personally too aged and too unexe-
cutive ; and the appointed executive, though occasionally
enraptured with the thought, was too desultory and impul-
sive to realize so grand a scheine. But even with this
versally developed. Permit me, therefore, dear Sir, in simple
affection, to put a few questions to you, which, if answered, will
give me possession of that information respecting you and your
work, which I think will be useful to the present and to future
generations of men. Also a mutual service may be rendered to
ourselves, by assisting to evolve our own being more completely;
thereby making us more efficient instruments for Love's use, in
carrying forward the work which it has begun within us. The
Unity himself must have his divine purposes to accomplish in
and by us, or he would not have prepared us as far as he has.
I am, therefore, willing to withhold nothing, but to receive and
transmit all he is pleased to make me be, and thus, at length, to
become an harmonious being. This he can readily work, in the
accomplishment of his primitive purposes. Should you think
that a personal intercourse of a few weeks would facilitate the
universal work, I would willingly undertake the voyage to
America for that purpose. There is so decided and general a
similarity in the sentiments and natures addressed in the account
of your teaching, that a contact of spirits so alike developed
would, no doubt, prove productive of still further development.
Your school appears to work deeper than any we have in Eng-
land; and its inner essential character interests me. If an
American Bookseller will send over any of your books to his
correspondents here, I shall be happy to receive and pay for
them.
In the year 1817, some strong interior visitations came
over me, which withdrew me from the world, in a considerable
degree, and I was enabled to yield myself up to Love's own
manner of acting, regardless of all consequences. Soon after
this time, I met with an account of the Spirit's work in and by
the late venerable Pestalozzi, which so interested me, that I pro-
ceeded at once to visit him in Switzerland; and remained with
him, in holy fellowship, four years. After that I was working,
with considerable success, amongst the various students in that
country, when the prejudices of the self-made wise and powerful
men became jealous of my influence, and I was advised to re-
turn to England, which I did; and have been working, in
various ways of usefulness ever since, from the deep centre, to
the circumference; and am now engaged in writing my con-
scientious experiences, as well as I can represent them in words,
and in teaching all such as come within my sphere of action.
Receptive beings, however, have as yet been but limited, and


424
[April,
A. Bronson Alcolt's Works.
large drawback there yet remained so striking and promi-
nent an approach to good men's hopes, that, notwithstand-
ing the supposition of introducing impossible novelties, the
number of individuals moved by the example is sufficient
those, who permanently retain, have been still less; yet, at pre-
sent, there appears a greater degree of awakening to the central
love-sensibility, than before. I see many more symptoms of the
harvest time approaching in this country. There is, at present,
an obvious appearance of the Love-seed beginning to germi-
nate.
Such of the following questions, as you may think calculated
to throw any light upon what you are doing, I shall be obliged
if you will answer, with any other information you may feel dis-
posed to supply, for the universal good.
• 1. Do your instructions entirely follow the universal ideas;
and are they connected with any peculiar sect of religion?
2. Are you, yourself, satisfied with the results that appear?
3. Have you had many difficulties to overcome?
4. How early do you begin to act upon children?
5. Is a day school or a boarding school best to carry out your
views ?
6. Have you found any one able to assist you?
7. Can mutual instruction avail anything?
8. Does the moral influence decidedly dominate over the in-
tellectual in the children?
9. Are the Parents willing to let you have the children?
10. What religious sect works inost favorably with you?
11. What sect works most against you?
12. Do the children that have come from other schools show any
preference to yours?
13. To what age would you keep the children ?
14. Do you think that your mode of instruction could be
easily nationalized ?
15. Is your mode of teaching compared with other modes, or
is it estimated with relation to the end sought?
16. Do the children soon begin to perceive the power of the
end that you have led them to?
17. Are inner tranquillity and inner thoughtfulness results of
the primary purpose ?
18. Do you find that the exercise of the inferior faculties neu-
tralizes what you have done?
19. Can you make all branches of instruction relate to the
primary purpose ?
20. Do the Girls make greater progress under you than the
Boys, and are they more grateful for the results ?
21. How do you rank music, singing, and dancing, as means?


1843.]
425
Practice
to encourage any, who are so doubtful as to require the
confirmation of associate approbation. Enough of good
was done to prove the path to the best. The gates of
Eden were temptingly in view, though the ultimate abode
was not entered.
22. Has sound a more universal influence than sight?
23. Are the poor chidren more easily acted upon than the
rich ?
24. Do the children feel at a loss, when they are removed to
another school ?
25. Can you act with more effect upon strange children than
upon your own?
26. Is the spirit of inquiry considerably deepened, and does it
take an eternal, instead of a temporal direction ?
27. How many scholars would you undertake to instruct in the
manner you are acting?
28. Do you consider the mode in which you have fitted up your
school room as very benefieial ?
29. Is it used for ordinary purposes, or only for instructions ?
The child has two orders of faculties, which are to be educa-
ted, essential and semiessential, or in other words, roots and
branches.
Radical faculties belong to the interior world, and the branch-
ial to the exterior.
To produce a central effect on the child, the radical faculties
must be first developed; to represent this effect, the branchial
faculties must be developed.
The radical faculties belong entirely to Love, the branchial to
knowledge and industry.
It is imperative upon us to follow the determination of the
radical faculties, and to modify the branchial always in obedience
to the radical.
It is the child, or the Love-Spirit in the child, that we must
obey, and not suffer the Parents or any one else to divert us
from it.
Good is not to be determined by man's wishes, but Good must
originate and determine the wish.
The Preceptor must watch attentively for every new exhibi-
tion of the child's radical faculties, and obey them as divine laws.
We must in every movement consider that it is the Infinite
perfecting the finite.
All that is unnecessary in the external must be kept from the
child.
The Preceptor's duty is, as far as possible, to remove every
hinderance out of the child's way.
VOL. III. — NO. IV
54


426
[April,
A. Bronson Alcott's Works.
Not many years have revolved since scholastic modes
simultaneously a Pestalozzi, a Neff, and an Oberlin, were
enabled to shed around them no small lustre, to acquire in
The closer he keeps the child to the Spirit, the less it will
, want of us, or any one else.
The child has an inward, sacred, and unchangeable nature;
which nature is the Temple of Love. This nature only de-
mands what it will give, if properly attented to, viz. Unfettered
Liberty.
The Love Germs can alone germinate with Love. Light and
Life are but conditions of Love. Divine capacities are made by
Love alone.
Love education is primarily a passive one; and, secondarily,
an active one. To educate the radical faculties is altogether a
new idea with Teachers at present.
The parental end must be made much more prominent than
it has been.
The conceptive powers want much more purification than the
perceptive, and it is only as we purify the conceptive that we shall
get the perceptive clear.
It is the essential conceptive powers that tinge all the conse-
quences of the exterior conceptive powers.
We have double conceptions, and double perceptions; we are
throughout double beings; and claim the universal morality, as
well as the personal.
We must now educate the universal moral faculties, as before
we have only educated the personal moral faculties.
It is in the universal moral faculties that the laws reside; un-
til these laws are developed, we remain lawless beings.
The personal moral faculties cannot stand without the aid of
the universal moral faculties, any more than the branches can
grow without the roots.
Education, to be decidedly religious, should reach man's uni-
versal faculties, those faculties which contain the laws that
connect man with his maker. -
These reflections seem to me to be worthy of consideration.
Should any of them strike you as worth while to make an ob-
servation upon, I shall be happy to hear it. Suggestions are
always valuable, as they offer to the mind the liberty of free
activity. The work we are engaged in is too extensive and
important, to lose any opportunity of gaining information.
The earlier I receive your reply, the better.
I am, dear Sir, yours, faithfully.
J. P. GREAVES.


1843.)
427
Development.
their respective circles a more than transient fame, by their
practical attempt to raise our public disciplines one or
two degrees out of the wretched depths into which they
had fallen. Few perhaps of their ideas were new. Expo-
sitions or dreams of them existed in books; indistinctly in
the records of the ancient philosophical fathers; pro-
phetically in the hopes of modern moralists. But the pe-
culiar claims of these men consisted in their bringing to
practice, in the most humble and familiar manner, modes
of treating human nature, which from long obsoleteness
had grown out of all memory. Youth of all ages, condi-
tions, and pursuits had so long been given over to harsh
feelings and the deadly doctrine of acquisitive knowledge,
that the combined ideas of a loveful teacher, and the living
source of truth in the taught, came upon the world as a
wholly original discovery, involving the projector in all the
difficulties and opposition with which genius is generally
encountered. The world's gratitude has not, however,
withheld the just tribute to these faithful innovators.
But while personally to such men, and universally to their
practical ideas, they now render due homage, the progres-
sive minds of this age will not fail to perceive, that this
movement was but preparative to a deeper and more im-
portant change. It was not a trifling task to persuade the
pedant to lock up the ferule in his desk, and appeal for
power to the love in his own bosom. This was a strange
mode, he thought, of quelling a juvenile rebellion. Nor
was it to him less heretical to think of folding his printed
book for a moment, and essaying the experiment of de-
veloping from the pupils a clearer exposition of the law of
number, or form, or of thought, than he could ever trans-
fuse into them by means of the best book ever penned.
The experiment, however, was tried, and wherever it was
faithfully attempted success was certain.
And sufficient good has appeared to all unbiassed observ-
ers, to shake to its foundation the old and oppressive dog-
matic discipline. Even in the most conservatorial recesses
coercion and dictation begin to abate somewhat of their
fury, making way for the developing principle, which must
in turn yield to that inmost treatment now presented. The
method of Instruction when conjoined with the doctrine, that
the human mind is comparable to a fair blank sheet of
paper, had arrived at its lowest degradation. The notion,


428
[April,
A. Bronson Alcott's Works.
that the human soul is but a capacity, more or less exten-
sive for the reception of impressions to be made upon it by
surrounding objects through the external senses, seems to
be the darkest, the most deathlike predicament in which
humanity could be entrammelled. When Bacon, with
manly and original vigor, encountered the school verbiage,
into which discipline had fallen from those realities which
the Aristotelian forms once represented, it is quite certain he
could not have anticipated a mistake on the part of his pre-
tended followers, equal to that into which the school men
had erred. They had indeed forgotten the superior half, the
dimidium scientiæ of their great and brilliant prototype.
The worse result of this error is its very general diffu-
sion. The notion and the language of it pervades all
ranks, much to the unmanning of humanity. Even now
it is maintained that external objects strike the mind.
When driven from this absurdity by the evident truth that
the mind must be the actor, the first mover, and act through
the senses upon the object; it is re-urged that the object
acts upon the retina of the eye, making an impression there,
and, through it, upon the mind. If this be followed up by
showing that the object never can be the subject or actor ;
that the objective case is not the nominative case ; the
charge comes forth of verbal and unworthy distinctions with
which the practical man will not trouble bimself. We may
appeal to the current language employed in every-day life,
through the mouth and through the pen, for proof to what
an extent this depressing idea prevails of man being pas-
sive to surrounding objects. It has in fact grown up into
a sort of philosophy. The potency, the creative influence
of circumstances is constantly pleaded, as the cause and
excuse for a state of existence we are too idle or too in-
different to amend. No scholastic jargon, or idols of the
mind, as Bacon called them, which his Novum Organum
dethroned, could have exceeded in direful force the pre-
valence of this circumstantial philosophy.
Sincerity is the youthful attribute. Deference to things
which exist, to persons placed in authority over youth,
either by natural laws or social custom, is much more com-
mon than is supposed. When they discover at every turn
their native vivacity repressed, and their spontaneity
checked, by the most solemn assurances and uniform prac-


1843.]
429
Inpresence.
tice which could possibly be realized for a false theory, it
would be wonderful indeed if they skepticized upon the
subject. This being also the tenet of our most progressive
outward philosophers, it has the charm of apparent advance-
ment which youth demands. It thus has an interior as
well as an exterior popularity, through which few minds, it
seems, have power enough to break away into higher,
clearer regions.
To borrow an illustration from the binder, the business of
instruction is similar to that of gilding and lettering the
backs of the books; putting ornaments on the edges and
outsides of the leaves ; while the process of development
treats humanity as something more than a mere capacity to
receive. It treats each individual as a book containing sen-
timents of its eternal author; not indeed born with ex-
pressions of ideas in forms, such as have been before
employed; but a book which, when opened, when permit-
ted to open, in daily intercourse with outward things, leaf
'by leaf, will unfold itself in modes and expressions ever
new and beautiful. By treating the mind as a subservient
passive blank, we go far to make it so. Dark prophecies
are not unfrequently realized by the malicious efforts of the
prognosticator. We must-have faith for better success.
Not only is the human soul comparable to a book in re-
spect to the fact, that there is a progressive opening for an
inner idea, occulily present previous to the development,
but also in this, that the human soul is capable of a con-
scious union with the thread that passes through its jnmost
being, and binds all its leaves together. There is this
intensive education, so generally remitted to the later inci-
dents in human life, as well as the extensive and discursive
education, which school development comprehends. In
but one man does it seem to have been the pervading, the
life-thought, the ever-present idea. Granting that Pesta-
lozzi had an intuition of this inmost fact, and that much
of his own proceeding had in view its realization in his
pupils; yet from its obscurity in bim, or the unprepared-
ness of the public mind, it was not declared in that lucid
manner in which it now is announced. His interrogative
mode too was so much more appropriate to the unfolding
of a quick intellect than of a' gentle heart, that we can
scarcely attribute to him the design of directing the soul


430
[April,
A. Bronson Alcott's Works.
to that one needful knowledge without which man is not
man, life is not life.
Each of these principles has a mode. Instruction de-
livers its dogmas, Education interrogates, Spirit-culture is
by conversation; conversation not in its narrow sense of
idle talk, but in deep communion by tongue, pen, action,
companionship, and every modification of living behavior,
including that of its apparent opposite, even silence itself.
Instruction may be Pythagorean ; Education, Socratic; but
Spirit-culture is Christ-like. Being the latter, it is also the
two former, as far as they are consistent with pure intellec-
tual affirmations, and spontaneous love.
Conversation, communion, connexion of heart with
heart, the laying open of unsophisticated mind to unso-
phisticated mind, under the ever prevailing conviction of
the Spirit's omnipresence, are the modes and the principle
of Alcott's annunciation to mankind. Throughout and
throughout he would have the One Omnipresent recognized
in actual operations, even as in the title to the chapters in
his published work. Without embarrassing the subject
with the question, whether all improvement is bounded by
this discovery, and whether so great a consummation re-
mained for so humble an individual, one placed just under
our own eyes, whom it is no rarity to see and hear, whom
we are in daily familiarity with, we may be allowed to re-
mark, that we think the world justly owes itself an inquiry
and an effort to realize this idea to the fullest. On all
sides we find the admission, that something further is to
come. We have not arrived at the happy point. Our
young men, saturated with antique lore in theological sem-
inaries, are scarcely to be enumerated amongst the whole-
some specimens of human intelligence or religious love.
Our young women, though free from the toils of Latin and
Greek, and given over a little to the idea of development,
are yet far from the millennial state, which a parent desires,
or a husband would cherish. The best practice of the
best theories, hitherto promulgated, leaves room enough for
the invitation of some further proposition ; and such we
have now presented to us.
True conversation seems not yet to be understood. The
value of it therefore cannot be duly prized. Its holy free-
dom, equidistant from hot licentiousness on the one hand,


1843.]
431
Conversation.
and cold formality on the other, presents constantly to the
living generous mind a sphere for inquiry and expression,
boundless as the soul itself. This true communion permits
all proper modes to be employed, without a rigid or exclu-
sive adherence to any particular one. There may be a
time for Quaker silence, for Episcopalian monotony, or for
Unitarian rhetoric. Instruction requires its pupils to be
passive to the lecture or the strictly defined task. Devel-
opment calls for answers limited to its initiatory questions ;
while Conversation goes beyond these two, not by annihi-
lating them, not by disusing or condemning them, but by
mingling them, as occasion may demand, in that process
which equally permits the pupil to interrogate or to make
a statement of his own flowing thought. It opens every
channel to the inexhaustible sluices of the mind. It de-
mands no dogged, slavish obedience, it imposes no depress-
ing formula, it weighs not down the being with an iron
discipline, that when removed is found to be the spring to
riot and debauchery ; but leaving to the artless spontaneity
of pure infancy the free expression of itself, attains the
highest end in education, so far as human means can serve
it. This expression of itself, or, in preferable terins, the
free, full, and natural expression of the Spirit through hu-
manity, is the high destiny in our earthly existence. More
than this cannot be promised or praised of any piece of
human organization. The tendency in all our systems to
become stereotype moulds, for the fixing of the new gener-
ation according to the pattern of the old, is still an argu-
ment for the trial of new plans. But every system was
doubtless good in its own day, and in its original author's
hands. Grant “ us youth” the same privilege ungrudg-
ingly, which was conceded or assumed by our ancestors.
The virtuous institutions of to-day will become corrupt
within ten short years. The reformer himself needs to be
reformed in his ideas, as soon as he has obtained his ideal
reform. We must not freeze the gushing stream so near
its source, but let it sparkle in the summer sun. Let us
have the last deep thought fresh from the infant soul, and
if it be inconsistent with its previous utterance, so let it
be. Is it true, is it honest, is it faithful, are questions
which the teacher may ask; not is it consistent with my
views or system. Consistency is an attribute of the rusty


432
[April,
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weather-vane, and is not to enforce a compliance by youth-
ful joy to hoary sadness.
In every such attempt as this to better humanity, the cry
of alarm is raised, that our sons and daughters may indeed
become poetic, but they will stand forth in the world use-
less and neglected. And in addition to this apprehension,
the description we have submitted may have excited the
idea, that a state of complete lawlessness must ensue, that
humanity would again become wild, a cunning wilderness
throughout, in which selfishness alone could reign.
Parents perhaps must be permitted without contradiction
to pronounce upon the degree of selfishness, which entered
into the procreation of their offspring This spontaneous
kind of education certainly gives a greater degree of liber-
ty to the being, such as he is, than any other. But it does
so in a godlike faith, in something more than faith, in a
religious certainty in the teacher's own bosom, that if he
himself be freed, if he be true, honest, and faithful, he
shall not in vain appeal to the free-making spirit in the
little one. And, whether as parent or friend, none other
than the free should venture upon the tender and hallowed
ground of Spirit. No one can in fact enter these holy
precincts, except so far as he is in real liberty. The
rudeness of anger, the vileness of selfishness, the baste of
doctrinism, close the young bud of as the human soul, the
hand of man causes the tender leaf of the sensitive plant
to be curled up. Its native cry is, touch not me. The
soul is scaled against such violent assaults, and not always
are the natural parents fitted to become the best spirit-
ual ones. On the contrary, the probability is that the
quality or organ, too prominent in the parent, shall be that
one which is uppermost in the offspring also; so that when
they begin to be active to each other nothing but a perpetu-
al clashing must ensue. And this must continue until we
have a diviner generation.
Numerous are the beautiful sentiments which we have
heard in behalf of the unbroken connexion between
mother and child. True in a practical sense they would
undoubtedly be, as in idea they are beautiful, were but
the mothers as practically true and beautiful. Until then
we are bound to admit that a temporary sphere, superior to
the parental home, may sometimes be discovered. There


1843.
433
Public Judgment.
are minds born with an intuition for this art, this highest
of the fine arts, and of these, Pestalozzi and Alcott are
distinguished masters. In the former there was a strong
desire to throw the activity upon the child; in the latter
there is more success. There is sometimes an urgency in
the developing system, especially on the part of those who
adopt it imitatively, which in the deeper mode is resolved
into quiet patience. The thought may be enshrined in the
soul, the feeling may to-day be most intense, but we must
wait for the season of expression.
To aim at brilliant immediate results, is as fatal as to
enforce apparent consistency. Humanity needs above all
things a larger faith. It is the heavenly privilege to hope
against rational expectation. In childhood we shall find
the largest confession of faith. This we should encourage
to the freest expression without, and to the fondest cher-
ishing within. We encourage it most, we cherish infant
purity in every aspect, in the highest degree, when we
neither check it nor hasten it. When Rousseau said, “ Ed-
ucation is that art in which we must lose time in order to
gain it," he might, had he been faithful himself to the
Spirit, have given a deeper turn to his thought, and have
announced, that education is a process in which we may
use time in order to gain eternity. A higher reality than
time, or brilliant show, is to be gained in education, which
by Alcott is designated Spirit-culture.
We foresee several objections which will be raised
against these principles ; or in preferable language we
may say, we perceive several classes of objectors as likely
to arise. In the estimation of one class there will be too
much abstraction ; that is to say, too frequent an allusion
from facts in the outward world to those in the inner world.
In the opinion of another class, there will not be religion
enough; that is to say, there will not be allusion enough,
direct and unallegorized, to the interior life. Some parents
will conclude there is too strong a tendency to definition,
while others determine that every subject is treated in a
vague manner, and that their children on quitting such a
school would in themselves be vain and pedantic, and for
themselves as well as their neighbors, ignorant and useless
beings. It will be said, that while they may possibly pick
VOL. III. — NO. IV.
55


434
[April,
A. Bronson Alcott's Works.
up a few words, they will be singularly destitute of know-
ledge.
Such contradictory estimates must be allowed in part to
neutralize each other. Parents, as well as observers gene-
rally, can only judge from their own position, and that un-
fortunately is not the position of childhood. At least the
parent might grant as much liberty of thought and action
to one, who devotes sincerely and purely an entire life to
the education of children, as he does to the baker, who
provides the bread. The teacher must daily endure more
dictation than the physician, or even the shoemaker, has
inflicted on him during his whole career. But this extreme
parental criticism arises from the most sacred feelings.
Undoubtedly. So also do the improved modes of the
teacher. If they do not, the parent should not confide
his offspring to him.
The ends proposed in education are so very various, that
it is scarcely possible to address all minds at once. Al-
though, in general terms, the ultimate or final end is the
happiness of their children, yet the intermediate or educa-
tive ends are almost as various as the parents. Nay, even
the two parents in one family are not always agreed upon
the subject. If the desire be to see the boy qualified to be-
come a man of business, every moment devoted to art or
moral culture will be deemed so much time and thonght
surreptitiously abstracted from the true end. If the girl
be designed for an artist, the pencil must be perpetually in
hand. But what has the true teacher to do with these
projects? They have little concern with the soul's legiti-
mate wants. Thoughtless or selfish as may have been the
child's generation, there is yet a power in it which shall
better instruct the teacher what is the peculiar-end in its
earthly existence, than the ambitious aspiration in the pa-
rents. This is a point to be determined between the teach-
er and child, rather than between the parent and teacher.
The objections of the exoteric mind we would meet by
observing, that too much haste is shown in drawing con-
clusions. The schoolmaster is not so fortunate as the
shoemaker, for his work is never finished, and he is sure to
be checked, criticised, and stopped in the process. A vast
proficiency may appear in a short time by a display of the
imitative powers. But the demand in the child's nature is to


1843.]
435
Parental Feeling
have its creative powers developed. A clever trading
teacher can send home the boy's book filled with writing,
drawing, and arithmetic of an apparently excellent char-
acter; while the child shall really know very little of the
laws of form or number. On the other hand, the pupil, in
whom the powers or laws shall really be better developed,
may be yet unable to make so good-looking an outward
display. No trifling or ordinary observing powers are
competent to forming a judgment on the state of a
young person's soul, or on the processes which are going
on within it. The examination of a school must be car-
ried deeper than counting the scholars, measuring the
length of the desks, or examining the ventilation. The
abiding interest manifested by many talented parents in
their frequent attendance at Mr. Alcott's school, as record-
ed in these excellent works, is a cheering proof that this
valuable process was not altogether unappreciated, and is
also a specimen of what school examination should be. It
is a trite remark, that no one really knows what the action
" to learn" is, until he begins to teach. At least we might,
then, require of parents that they should put themselves
into a like position, as nearly as possible, with their chil-
dren, before they pronounce on the merits of the school.
Children and parents should, in fact, be taught together;
and it is only in default of willingness on the part of the
latter to learn that which can only be learnt in the deepest
life-experiences, that renders other aid necessary. Talent
is not the deficiency, for the needful talent would arise in
the process, but the unselfish will is not yet present. And
it does seem hardly suitable that self-will, though enshrined
in the parental bosom, should interpose between the soul
which is given up to human good and its outworking. For
such is the condition of the teacher, or he is an impostor,
and is not for one moment to be trusted with babies and
their horubook. If the parent does not choose this posi-
tion, rather, then, permit the child to determine the value
of the process and its end.
Most thinkers have now arrived at the perception, that
there is a double process in teaching; namely, a develop-
ing action, which serves to bring out in order and harmo-
ny all the innate powers, capacities, and organs; and an
instructive operation, which lays gradually before the child,


436
[April,
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in a manner suited to the several stages in its development,
the accumulated records of past events. When the first
mentioned of these ideas was in recent times anew pro-
posed to the world, the outcry was, “Oh, you will make
the children wiser than their fathers.” But these grey-
beard sneers prevailed not. Silence ensued, if not con-
viction. Tolerance, if not liberty, was won for the human
race. But dumb toleration probably yet hides remains
of the old feeling. When spirit-culture is spoken of in
some circles, there are still discoverable symptoms of con-
demnation, as of a needless novelty, a vain refinement.
“ Why pester the children continually, and on every sub-
ject, with this allusion to Spirit? I do not very well un-
derstand what you would be at; but if I can see any
meaning at all in it, we hear enough about it from the
minister on the seventh day, and I would prefer you should
send home my children sharper and well informed in arith-
metic, geography, and the like, to leading them into this
abtruse matter. I have got on very well without it, and
so can they. I like all sorts of improvement very well,
but in this, I think, you go needlessly beyond the mark.”
Such is the sentiment which, in colloquial language like
this, we shall not travel far without hearing. Neither shall
we have occasion to travel far for the true solution. It is
within us.
Before the soul, or human spirit, can be satisfied, can
be made happy, it must know whereof itself is. The
knowledge of earth, and plants, and animals, and arts, and
trade, fills not the soul with satisfying supplies. With
matter and material things there is no possibility of our
failing to become acquainted; but even the harmonious
relationships of these remain an inexplicable oracle with-
out a spirit-intellection. There are these two sides to
mental education, the side of Spirit, and the side of Na-
ture. The former is internal to the soul, the latter exter-
nal. Nature is not necessarily material, for there are the
natural affections and feelings, the loves and hopes in man,
which are not material; neither are they Spirit; they are
natural. In order to the attainment of true and perfect
humanity, in order to tend that way, it is needful that ed-
ucation should take the side of Spirit. Would the chymist
know the secret in his experiment, he must study the law


1843.]
437
Omnipresence of Spirit.
or element in his solvent, and not seek it in the thing
solved, or in the crucible which contains it. The mental
crucible is the object of study; the solvent is the soul ;
the power in the solvent is the Spirit. No satisfactory so-
lution of any material, or mental phenomena, can be at-
tained without the conscious inpresence of Spirit. True,
the Spirit is always present; the omnipresent is always
omnipresent; and the teacher can make neither more nor
less of that eternal fact. Such is the reply of the outward
mind; on which it may be submitted, that it does make
an immense difference. It makes all possible difference for
human good or ill, for misery or happiness, whether the
human soul is or is not, as continually, perpetually, and in
all things as consciously sensible of the Spirit-presence, as
in reality and in fact it is present. It is a sad mistake to
determine that this vital fact can be overknown. Super-
abundantly spoken of, no doubt, it sometimes may be, but
even that can hardly occur. For if the soul be not yet
born into that inmost life, constant allusion by act, by
bearing, by word, may surely be persevered in ; and if the
word, the idea, the fact be true to any auditor, no deterio-
ration can occur by direct and frequent allusion. Famil-
iarity with truth engenders no contempt. This course is
no more than always takes place in every sphere in life.
The language is echo to the being. The legislator in his
hall, the merchant on the exchange, has his allusion to his
supposed good, and, inferior as it is, no contempt or ridi-
cule is by that means brought upon it. Artistic phraseolo-
gy is strange to the trader's ears, because he lives not the
artistic life, not because the phraseology is improper.
Spirit language is strange to men, not on account of its
irrelevancy to existence, but because they live a material
life. It were better assuredly that men should be elevated
to a higher life, than that language, and modes of treat-
ing the human soul, and aspirations for spirit-culture should
descend to them!
In the ordinary interpretation of the term, we do not
pretend to review these works. If we have in any degree
opened in the reader's mind an idea of that spirit and sys-
tem, which these books, like all others, can but faintly re-
cord, we have attained a satisfactory result. We are glad
to find the sentiments, which the best men in all ages of


438
[April,
A. Bronson Alcott's Works.
the world have held, confirmed in modern times by so pure
a life, so intelligent an understanding, and so eloquent a
speech as Mr. Alcott's. Instead of reproaching him for
the introduction of doctrines too subtle for healthy appre-
ciation by the young mind, the world might be reproached
for so long withholding the rights of infancy from its neg.
lected cravings.
The following beautiful passages are the best exposition
we can offer of Mr. Alcott's intuition on the three grand
points of Conversation, the Teacher, and Spirit-culture ;
the means, the actor, and the end.
“In conversation all the instincts and faculties of our being
are touched. They find full and fair scope. It tempts forth all
the powers. Man faces his fellow man. He holds a living in-
tercourse. He feels the quickening life and light. The social
affections are addressed; and these bring all the faculties in
train. Speech comes unbidden. Nature lends her images.
Imagination sends abroad her winged words. We see thought
as it springs from the soul, and in the very process of growth
and utterance. Reason plays under the mellow light of fancy.
The Genius of the Soul is waked, and eloquence sits on her
tuneful lip. Wisdom finds an organ worthy her - serene utteran-
ces. Ideas stand in beauty and majesty before the soul.
“ And Genius has ever sought this organ of utterance. It has
given us full testimony in its favor. Socrates — a name that
Christians can see coupled with that of their Divine Sage-
descanted thus on the profound themes in which he delighted.
The market-place; the workshop ; the public streets; were his
favorite haunts of instruction. And the divine Plato has ad-
ded his testimony, also, in those enduring works, wherein he
sought to embalm for posterity, both the wisdom of his master
and the genius that was his own. Rich text-books these for the
study of philosophic genius; next in finish and beauty to the
specimens of Jesus as recorded by John.
“It is by such organs that Human Nature is to be unfolded in-
to fulness. Yet for this, teachers must be men inspired with
great and living Ideas. Such alone can pierce the customs and
conventions that obscure the Soul's vision, and release her from
the slavery of the corporeal life. And such are ever sent at the
call of Humanity. Some God, instinct with the Idea that is to
regenerate his age, appears in his time, as a flaming Herald, and
sends abroad the Idea, which it is the mission of the age to organ-
ize in institutions, and quicken into manners. Such mould
the Genius of the time. They revive in Humanity the lost Idea
of its destiny, and reveal its fearful endowments. They vindi-


1843.]
439
The Teacher.
cate the divinity of man's nature, and foreshadow on the coming
Time the conquests that await it. An Age pre-exists in them;
and History is but the manifestation and issue of their Wisdom
and Will. They are the Prophets of the Future.
" At this day, men need some revelation of Genius, to arouse
them to a sense of their nature; for the Divine Idea of a Man
seems to have died out of our consciousness. Encumbered by
the gluts of the appetites, sunk in the corporeal senses, men
know not the divine life that stirs within them, yet hidden and
enchained. They do not revere their own being. And when
the phenomenon of Genius appears, they marvel at its advent.
Some Nature struggling with vicissitude tempts forth the Idea
of Spirit from within, and unlooses the Promethean God to'roam
free over the earth. He possesses his Idea and brings it as a
blessed gift to his race. With awe-struck visage, the tribes of
semi-unfolded beings survey it from below, deeming it a partial
or preternatural gift of the Divinity, into whose life and being
they are forbidden, by a decree of the Eternal, from entering;
whose laws they must obey, yet cannot apprehend. They dream
not, that this phenomenon is but the complement of their com-
mon nature; and that in this admiration and obedience, which
they proffer, is both the promise and the pledge of the same
powers in themselves; that this is but their fellow-creature in
the flesh. And the mystery remains sealed till it is seen, that
this is but the unfolding of Being in its fulness; working free of
every incumbrance, by possessing itself.
“For Genius is but the free and harmonious play of all the
faculties of a human being. It is a Man possessing his Idea and
working with it. It is the Whole Man — the central Will —
working worthily, subordinating all else to itself; and reaching
its end by the simplest and readiest means. It is Being rising
superior to things and events, and transfiguring these into the
Image of its own Spiritual Ideal. It is the Spirit working in its
own way, through its own organs and instruments, and on its
own materials. It is the Inspiration of all the faculties of a Man
by a life conformed to his Idea. It is not indebted to others for
its manifestation. It draws its life from within. It is self-sub-
sistent. It feeds on Holiness; lives in the open vision of Truth;
enrobes itself in the light of Beauty; and bathes its powers in
the fount of Temperance. It aspires after the Perfect. It loves
Freedom. It dwells in Unity. All men have it, yet it does not
appear in all men. It is obscured by ignorance ; quenched by
evil; discipline does not reach it; nor opportunity cherish it.
Yet there it is an original, indestructible element of every
spirit; and sooner or later, in this corporeal, or in the spir-
itual era -at some period of the Soul's development - it shall
be tempted forth, and assert its claims in the life of the Spirit.


440
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It is the province of education to wake it, and disclipine it into
the perfection which is its end, and for which it ever thirsts.
Yet Genius alone can wake it. Genius alone inspire it. It
comes not at the incantation of mere talent. It respects itself.
It is strange to all save its kind. It shrinks from vulgar gaze,
and lives in its own world. None but the eye of Genius can dis-
cern it, and it obeys the call of none else.”
“To work worthily, man must aspire worthily. His theory
of human attainment must be lofty. It must ever be lifting him
above the low plain of custom and convention, in which the sen-
ses confine him, into the high mount of vision, and of renovating
ideas. To a divine nature, the sun ever rises over the moun-
tains of hope, and brings promises on its wings; nor does he
linger around the dark and depressing valley of distrust and of
fear. The magnificent bow of promise ever gilds his purpose,
and he pursues his way steadily, and in faith to the end. For
Faith is the soul of all improvement. It is the Will of an Idea.
It is an Idea seeking to embody and reproduce itself. It is the
All-Proceeding Word going forth, as in the beginning of things,
to incarnate itself, and become flesh and blood to the senses.
Without this faith an Idea works no good. It is this which
animates and quickens it into life. And this must come from
living men.
“ And such Faith is the possession of all who apprehend
Ideas. And Genius alone can inspire. To nurse the young
spirit as it puts forth its pinions in the fair and hopeful morning
of life, it must be placed under the kindly and sympathizing
agency of Genius — heaven-inspired and hallowed — or there is
no certainty that its aspirations will not die away in the routine
of formal tuition, or spend themselves in the animal propensities
that coexist with it. Teachers must be men of genius. They
must be inspired. The Divine Idea of a Man must have
been unfolded from their being, and be a living presence. Phi-
losophers, and Sages, and Seers — the only real men — must
come, as of old, to the holy vocation of unfolding humanity.
Pythagoras, Socrates, and Plato, and the Diviner Jesus, must
be raised up to us, to breathe their wisdom and will into the
genius of our era, to recast our institutions, remould our
manners, and regenerate our men. Philosophy and Religion,
descending from the regions of cloudy speculation, must thus
become denizens of our common earth, known among us as
friends, and uttering their saving truths through the mouths of
our little ones. Thus shall our being be unfolded. Thus the
Idea of a man be reinstated in our consciousness. And thus
shall Man grow up, as the tree of the primeval woods, luxuriant,
vigorous - armed at all points, to brave the winds and the storms


Inspired Teacher.
441
of the finite and the mutable — bearing his Fruit in due
season.
“To fulfil its end, Instruction must be an Inspiration. The
True Teacher must inspire in order to unfold. He must know
that instruction is something more than mere impression on the
understanding. He must feel it to be a kindling influence; that,
in himself alone, is the quickening, informing energy; that the
life and growth of his charge pre-exist in him. He is to hallow
and refine as he tempts forth the soul. He is to inform the un-
derstanding; by chastening the appetites, allaying the passions,
softening the affections, vivifying the imagination, illuminating
the reason, giving pliancy and force to the will; for a true un-
derstanding is the issue of these powers, working freely and in
harmony with the Genius of the soul, conformed to the law of
Duty. He is to put all the springs of Being in motion. And to
do this, he must be the personation and exemplar of what he
would unfold in his charge. Wisdom, Truth, Holiness, must
have pre-existence in him, or they will not appear in his pupils.
These influence alone in the concrete. They must be made
flesh and blood in him, to re-appear to the senses, and subordi-
nate all to their own force; and this too, without violating any
Law, spiritual, intellectual, corporeal — but in obedience to the
highest Agency, co-working with God. Under the melting force
of Genius, thus employed, Mind shall become fluid, and he shall
mould it into Types of Heavenly Beauty. Its agency is that of
mind leaping to meet mind; not of force acting on opposing
force. The Soul is touched by the live coal of his lips. A
kindling influence goes forth to inspire; making the mind think;
the heart feel; the pulse throb with his own. He arouses every
faculty. He awakens the Godlike. He images the fair and full
features of a Man. And thus doth he drive at will the drowsy
Brute, that the eternal hath yoked to the chariot of Life, to urge
man across the Finite!
“Our plans of influence, to be successful, must become more
practical. We must be more faithful. We must deal less in
abstractions; depend less on precepts and rules. We must fit
the soul for duty by the practice of duty. We must watch and
enforce. Like unsleeping Providence, we must accompany the
young into the scenes of temptation and trial, and aid them in
the needful hour. Duty must sally forth an attending Presence
'into the actual world, and organize to itself a living body. It
must learn the art of uses. It must incorporate itself with Na-
ture. To its sentiments we must give a Heart. Its Ideas we
must arm with Hands. For it ever longs to become flesh and
blood. The Son of God delights to take the Son of Man as a
co-mate, and to bring flesh and blood even to the very gates of
VOL. III. —NO. iv. 56


442
[April,
A. Bronson Alcott's Works.
the Spiritual Kingdom. It would make the word Flesh, that it
shall be seen and handled and felt.
“The Culture, that is alone worthy of Man, and which un-
folds his Being into the Image of its fulness, casts its agencies
over all things. It uses Nature and Life as means for the Soul's
growth and renewal. It never deserts its charge, but follows it
into all the relations of Duty. At the table it seats itself, and
fills the cup for the Soul ; caters for it; decides when it has
enough; and heeds not the clamor of appetite and desire. It
lifts the body from the drowsy couch; opens the eyes upon the
rising sun; tempts it forth to breathe the invigorating air;
plunges it into the purifying bath; and thus whets all its func-
tions for the duties of the coming day. And when toil and
amusement have brought weariness over it, and the drowsed sen-
ses claim rest and renewal, it remands it to the restoring couch
again, to feed it on dreams. Nor does it desert the Soul in
seasons of labor, of amusement, of study. To the place of oc-
cupation it attends it, guides the corporeal members with skill
and faithfulness; prompts the mind to diligence; the heart to
gentleness and love ; directs to the virtuous associate; the pure
place of recreation; the innocent pastime. It protects the eye
from the foul image ; the vicious act; the ear from the vulgar
or profane word; the hand from theft ; the tongue from guile;
- urges to cheerfulness and purity; to forbearance and meek-
ness; to self-subjection and self-sacrifice; order and decorum;
and points, amid all the relations of duty, to the Law of Temp-
erance, of Genius, of Holiness, which God hath established in
the depths of the Spirit, and guarded by the unsleeping senti-
nel of Conscience, from violation and defilement. It renews the
Soul day by day.” — Spiritual Culture, pp. 87 - 105.
The mind, which applies to these sentiments the noblest
interpretation, will see through the New England idiom,
which is occasionally perhaps rather egoistic to ears educa-
ted in an older routine; and recognise throughout the
working of the same spirit which has animated the good in
all ages.
Any one, who has attended a public meeting, and has
afterwards read a printed report of it in the newspapers,
will have experienced the insufficiency of any recital in
imparting a semblance of the life and creative energy in
the original. How then shall free, though orderly conver-
sations be adequately reported ? Conversations moreover
with children full of animated thoughts, and upon the
deepest subjects within their power. Yet some of these
spirit-communings are so happy, and so happily recorded,


1843.)
443
Conversation on Prayer.
that we cannot forbear quoting one of them, that parents
and teachers may see the entire possibility of applying
these high principles of moral culture to actual practice.
CONVERSATION XXXIII.
SPIRITUAL WORSHIP.
PRAYER AND PRAISE.
Conversation of Jesus with the Samaritan Woman, from the Sacred Text, - Immortality.
- Emblem of Holiness. - Idolatry. - Spiritual Worship. Sincerity.- Idea of Prayer.
- Actual Prayer.- Responsive Prayer. - Ritual of Worship. - Prayer of Faith. - For-
giveness. - Dramatic Prayer. - Devotion to the Holy. - Idea of Universal Adoration
and Praise. - Reverence of the Godlike in Conscience - Reverence of Humanity. -
Reverence of the INVISIBLE — Admiration of Naturc. -- Spiritual Awe. - Supremacy of
Spirit over Nature. - Worldliness.- Release from the Flesh. - Instinct of Adoration in
Infancy.-Subject.
Mr. Alcott read the remainder of the
CONVERSATION OF JESUS WITH THE WOMAN OF SAMARIA.
John iv. 16 - 30.
16. Jesus saith unto her, Go, call thy husband and come hither.
Worship
. 17. The woman answered and said, I have no husband. Jesus said unto her,
Thou hast well said, I have no husband :
18 For thou hast had five husbands; and he whom thou now hast is not thy husband; in
that saidst thou truly.
19 The woman saith unto him, Sir, I perceive that thou art a prophet.
20 Our fathers worshipped in this mountain ; and ye say, that in Jerusalem is the place
where men ought to worship.
21 Jesus saith unto her, Woman, believe me, the hour cometh when ye shall neither in
this mountain, nor yet at Jerusalem, worship the Father.
22 Ye worship ye know not what: we know what we worship: for salvation is of the
Jews.
23 But the hour cometh, and now is, when the true worshippers shall worship the Father
in spirit and in truth: for the Father seeketh such to worship him.
24 God is a Spirit: and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth.
25 The woman saith unto him, I know that Messias cometh, which is called Christ :
when he is come, he will tell us all things.
26 Jesus saith unto her, I that speak unto thee am he.
27 And upon this came his disciples, and marvelled that he talked with the woman: yet
no man said, What seekest thou ? or, Why talkest thou with her ?
28 The woman then left her waterpot, and went her way into the city, and faith to the
men,
20 Come, see a man, which told me all things that ever I did : is not this the Christ?
30 Then they went out of the city, and came unto him.
Immortality
(Before he had time to ask the usual question.)
... SAMUEL T. (spoke) I was most interested in this
norame verse: “He that drinks of this water shall thirst
again, but he that drinks of the water that I shall give him,
shall never thirst.” He means by this, that those who heard
what he taught, and did it, should live always, should never die,
their spirits should never die.
Mr. Alcott. Can spirit die ?
SAMUEL T. For a spirit to die is to leave off being good.


444
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Emblem of
Holiness.
Edward J. I was interested in the words, “ For
the water I shall give him will be in him a well of
water." I think it means, that when people are good
and getting better, it is like water springing up always. They
have more and more goodness.
SAMUEL R. Water is an emblem of Holiness.
Mr. Alcott. Water means Spirit pure and unspoiled.
EDWARD J. It is holy spirit.
Idolatry.
worship ye know not what." The Samaritans wor-
shipped idols, and there was no meaning to that.
MR. Alcott. What do you mean by their worshipping
idols ?
ELLEN. They cared about things more than God.
MR. Alcort. What kind of false worship do you think
Jesus was thinking about, when he said, “ Woman, the hour is
coming and now is, when neither in this mountain — "?
ELLEN. Oh! She thought the place of worship was more
important than the worship itself.
MR. Alcott. Well ! how did Jesus answer that thought?
ELLEN. He told her what she ought to worship, which was
more important than where.
Mr. Alcott. Some of you perhaps have made this mistake,
and thought that we only worshipped God in churches and on
Sundays. How is it - who has thought so ?
(Several held up hands, smiling.)
Who knew that we could worship God any where?
(Others held up hands.)
Worship.
What other worship is there beside that in the
Church?
EDWARD J. The worship in our hearts.
EDWARD J. By being good.
Nathan. We worship God by growing better.
AUGUSTINE. We worship God when we repent of doing
wrong.
Josiah. I was most interested in this verse, “God
mense is a Spirit, and they that worship him must worship him
in spirit and in truth.” It means that to feel our prayers is
more important than to say the words.
LEMUEL. And when we pray and pray sincerely.
Mr. Alcott. What is praying sincerely?
LEMUEL. Praying the truth.
Mr. Alcott. What is to be done in praying the truth?
When you think of prayer, do you think of a position of the
body – of words?


1843.]
445
Prayer.
LEMUEL. (Earnestly.) I think of something else, but I
cannot express it.
MR. Alcott. Josiah is holding up his hand; can he ex-
press it?
JOSIAH (burst out,) To pray, Mr. Alcott, is to be
** good, really ; you know it is better to be bad before
people, and to be good to God alone, because then we are good
for goodness' sake, and not to be seen, and not for people's
sake. Well, so it is with prayer. There must be nothing out-
ward about prayer ; but we must have some words, sometimes ;
sometimes we need not. If we don't feel the prayer, it is worse
than never to say a word of prayer. It is wrong not to pray,
but it is more wrong to speak prayer and not pray. We had
better do nothing about it, Mr. Alcott ! we must say words in a
prayer, and we must feel the words we say, and we must do
what belongs to the words.
Mr. ALCOTT. Oh! there must be doing, must
Actual Prayer.
there?
Josian. Oh! yes, Mr. Alcott ! doing is the most important
part. We must ask God for help, and at the same time try to
do the thing we are to be helped about. If a boy should be
good all day, and have no temptation, it would not be very
much; there would be no improvement; but if he had tempta-
tion, he could pray and feel the prayer, and try to overcome it,
and would overcome it; and then there would be a real prayer
and a real improvement. That would be something. Tempta.
tion is always necessary to a real prayer, I think. I don't be-
lieve there is ever any real prayer before there is a temptation;
because we may think and feel and say our prayer; but there
cannot be any doing, without there is something to be done."
MR. Alcort. Well, Josiah, that will do now. Shall some
one else speak?
Josiah. Oh, Mr. Alcott, I have not half done.
ponsive Edward J. Mr. Alcott, what is the use of respond-
Prayer. ing in church?
Mr. Alcott. Cannot you tell ?
Edward J. No; I never knew
Josiah. Oh! Mr. Alcott!
MR. Alcott. Well, Josiah, do you know?
Josiah. Why, Edward ! is it not just like a mother's telling
her child the words? The child wants to pray; it don't know
how to express its real thoughts, as we often say to Mr. Alcott
here; and the mother says words, and the child repeats after
her the words.
Edward J. Yes; but I don't see what good it does.
· Josian. What! if the mother says the words, and the child
repeats them and feels them — really wants the things that are
prayed for — can't you see that it does some good ?


446
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A. Bronson Alcott's Works.
EDWARD J. It teaches the word-prayer - it is not the real
prayer.
Josiah. Yet it must be the real prayer, and the real prayer
must have some words.
Ritual of
Worship.
But, Mr. Alcott, I think it would be a great deal
better, if, at church, every body prayed for them-
selves. I don't see why one person should pray for
all the rest. Why could not the minister pray for himself, and
the people pray for themselves; and why should not all commu-
nicate their thoughts? Why should only one speak? Why
should not all be preachers ? Every body could say something; at
least, every body could say their own prayers, for they know
what they want. Every person knows the temptations they have,
and people are tempted to do different things. Mr. Alcott ! I
think Sunday ought to come oftener.
Mr. Alcott. Our hearts can make all time Sunday.
Josiah. Why then nothing could be done! There must be
week-days, I know — some week-days; I said, Sunday oftener.
MR. Alcort. But you wanted the prayers to be doing
prayers.
Now some of the rest may tell me, how you could
Prayer of Faith.
pray doing prayers.
GEORGE K. Place is of no consequence. I think prayer is
in our hearts. Christian prayed in the cave of Giant Despair.
We can pray any where, because we can have faith any where.
MR. Alcott. Faith, then, is necessary?
GEORGE K. Yes; for it is faith that makes the prayer.
MR. ALCOTT. Suppose an instance of prayer in yourself.
George K. I can pray going to bed or getting up.
Mr. Alcort. You are thinking of time, — place, — words.
George K. And feelings and thoughts.
MR. ALCOTT. And action ?
George K. Yes; action comes after.
John B. When we have been doing wrong and are sorry, we
pray to God to take away the evil.
MR. Alcott. What evil, the punishment ?
B . John B. No; we want the forgiveness.
E MR. ALCOTT. What is for-give-ness, is it any thing
given ?
LEMUEL. Goodness, Holiness.
John B. And the evil is taken away.
Mr. Alcort. Is there any action in all this?
John B. Why yes! there is thought and feeling.
Mr. Alcott. But it takes the body also to act; what do the
hands do ?
John B. There is no prayer in the hands !


1843.]
447
Prayer.
Dramatic Prayer.
Mr. Alcott. You have taken something that belongs to an-
other; you pray to be forgiven; you wish not to do so again ;
you are sorry. Is there any thing to do?
John B. If you injure any body, and can repair it, you
must, and you will, if you have prayed sincerely; but that is not
the prayer.
MR. ALCOTT. Would the prayer be complete without it?
John B. No.
Andrew. Prayer is in the Spirit.
MR. ALCOTT. Does the Body help the Spirit ?
ANDREW. It don't help the prayer.
MR. Alcott. Don't the lips move?
a . Andrew. But have the lips any thing to do with
the prayer ?
Mr. Alcott. Yes; they may. The whole nature may act
together; the body pray; and I want you to tell an instance of
a prayer in which are thoughts, feelings, action; which involves
the whole nature, body and all. There may be prayer in the
palms of our hands.
ANDREW. Why, if I had hurt any body, and was sorry and
prayed to be forgiven, I suppose I should look round for some
medicine and try to make it well.
(Mr. Alcott here spoke of the connerion of the mind with the
body, in order to make his meaning clearer.)
SAMUEL R. If I had a bad habit and should ask God for help
to break it; and then should try so as really to break it — that
would be a prayer.
CHARLES. Suppose I saw a poor beggar-boy hurt, or sick,
and all bleeding; and I had very nice clothes, and was afraid to
soil them, or from any such cause should pass him by, and bye
and bye I should look back and see another boy helping him,
and should be really sorry and pray to be forgiven that would
be a real prayer; but if I had done the kindness at the time of
it, that would have been a deeper prayer.
AUGUSTINE. When any body has done wrong, and does not
repent for a good while, but at last repents and prays to be for-
given, it may be too late to do any thing about it; yet that might
be a real prayer.
Mr. Alcort. Imagine a real doing prayer in your life.
Lucia. Suppose, as I was going home from school, some
friend of mine should get angry with me, and throw a stone at
me; I could pray not to be tempted to do the same, to throw a
stone at her, and would not.
MR. Alcort. And would the not doing any thing in that
case be a prayer and an action? Keeping your body still would
LUCIA. Yes.
ELLEN. I heard a woman say, once, that she could pray best


448
(April,
A. Bronson Alcott's Works.
when she was at work; that when she was scouring floor she
would ask God to cleanse her mind..
Devotion to
the Holy.
to Mr. Alcott. I will now vary my question. Is there
any prayer in Patience ?
ALL. A great deal.
MR. Alcort. In Impatience ?
All. No; not any.
MR. Alcott. In Doubt?
GEORGE K. No; but in Faith.
Mr. Alcott. In Laziness?
All (but Josiah.) No; no kind of prayer.
Josiah. I should think that Laziness was the prayer of the
body, Mr. Alcott.
Mr. Alcott. Yes; it seems so. The body tries to be still
more body; it tries to get down into the clay; it tries to sink;
but the spirit is always trying to lift it up and make it do some-
thing.
EDWARD J. Lazy people sometimes have passions that make
them act.
Mr. Alcott. Yes; they act downwards.
Is there any prayer in disobedience ?
All. No.
Mr. Alcott. Is there any in submission ?
In forbearing when injured ?
In suffering for a good object?
In self-sacrifice ?
All. (Eagerly to each question.) Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.
(Mr. Alcott here made some very interesting remarks on loving
God with all our heart, soul, mind, foc., and the Idea of Devo
tion it expressed. Josiah wanted to speak constantly, but Mr.
Alcott checked him, that the others might have opportunity, though
the latter wished to yield to Josiah.)
Josiah (burst out,) Mr. Alcott ! you know Mrs.
sal Adoration Barbauld says in her hymns, Every thing is prayer;
every action is prayer; all nature prays; the bird
prays in singing; the tree prays in growing; men pray; men
can pray more; we feel ; we have more — more than nature;
we can know and do right; Conscience prays; all our powers
pray; action prays. Once we said here, that there was a
“ Christ in the bottom of our Spirits" when we try to be good;
then we pray in Christ; and that is the whole. *
Mr. ALCOTT. Yes, Josiah, that is the whole. That is Uni-
versal Prayer — the adoration of the Universe to its Author !
Idea of Univer.
and Praise.
* This improvisation is preserved in its words. Josiah, it may be
named, was under seven years of age, and the other children were cbiefly
between the ages of six and twelve years.


1843.]
449
Conscience.
Reverence of
Conscience.
Charles. I was most interested in this verse-
the conlike in “ The day is coming, and now is, when men shall
worship the Father," &c. I think that this means
that people are about to learn what to worship, and where.
Mr. Alcort. Have you learned this to-day?
CHARLES. Yes; I have learnt some new things, I believe.
Mr. Alcort. What are you to worship?
CHARLES. Goodness.
Mr. Alcott. Where is it?
CHARLES. Within.
MR. ALCOTT. Within what?
CHARLES. Conscience, or God.
MR. Alcort. Are you to worship Conscience ?
Charles. Yes.
MR. ALCOTT. Is it any where but in yourself?
CHARLES. Yes; it is in Nature.
MR. Alcott. Is it in other people?
Reverence of Charles. Yes; there is more or less of it in other
anily. people, unless they have taken it out.
MR. ALCOTT. Can it be entirely taken out?
CHARLES. Goodness always lingers in Conscience.
Mr. Alcort. Is Conscience any where but in Human
Nature ?
Charles. It is in the Supernatural.
Reference Mr. Alcott. You said at first that there was
something in outward Nature, which we should wor-
ship.
CHARLES. No; I don't think we should worship any thing
but the Invisible.
Mr. Alcott. What is the Invisible?
CHARLES. It is the Supernatural.
John B. It is the Inward the Spiritual.
But I don't see why we should not worship the sun a little as
well —
MR. ALCOTT. As well as the Sunmaker? But there
Admiration are sun-worshippers.
John B. Yes; a little ; for the sun gives us light
and heat.
Mr. Alcott. What is the difference between your feeling
when you think of the sun, or the ocean, (he described some
grand scenes,) and when you think of Conscience acting in such
cases as — (he gave some striking instances of moral power.) Is
there not a difference?
(They raised their hands.)
What is the name of the feeling with which you look at
Nature?
SEVERAL. Admiration.
VOL. III. --- NO. IV.
57
the Invisible.
of Nature.


450
(April,
A. Bronson Alcott's Works.
Worldliness,
MR. Alcott. But when Conscience governs our weak body,
is it not a Supernatural Force? Do you not feel the awe of the
inferior before a superior nature? And is not that worship?
The sun cannot produce it.
Josian. Spirit worships Spirit. Clay worships
Spiritual Awe.
Clay.
Supremacy of Mr. Alcort. Wait a moment, Josiah. I wish to
Panco.ver talk with the others; let me ask them this question;
- Do you feel that Conscience is stronger than the
mountain, deeper and more powerful than the ocean ? Can you
say to yourself, I can remove this mountain ?
Josial (burst out,) Yes, Mr. Alcott.! I do not mean that
with my body I can lift up a mountain — with my hand; but I
can feel; and I know that my Conscience is greater than the
mountain, for it can feel and do; and the mountain cannot.
There is the mountain, there! It was made and that is all.
But my Conscience can grow. It is the same kind of Spirit as
made the mountain be, in the first place. I do not know what
it may be and do. The Body is a mountain, and the Spirit
says, be moved, and it is moved into another place.
I . Mr. Alcott, we think too much about Clay. We
should think of Spirit. I think we should love Spirit,
not Clay. I should think a mother now would love her baby's
Spirit; and suppose it should die, that is only the Spirit burst-
ing away out of the Body. It is alive; it is perfectly happy;
I really do not know why people mourn when their friends die.
I should think it would be matter of rejoicing. For instance,
now, if we should go out into the street and find a box,
from an old dusty box, and should put into it some very fine
pearls, and bye and bye the box should grow old and
break, why, we should not even think about the box; but if the
pearls were safe, we should think of them and nothing else. So
it is with the Soul and Body. I cannot see why people mourn
for bodies.
MR. Alcott. Yes, Josiah; that is all true, and we are glad
to hear it. Shall some one else now speak beside you ?
Josiah. Oh, Mr. Alcott ! then I will stay in the recess and
talk.
MR. Alcott. When a little infant opens its eyes
Adoration in upon this world, and sees things out of itself, and has
- the feeling of admiration, is there in that feeling the
beginningof worship?
Josiah. No, Mr. Alcott; a little baby does not worship. It
opens its eyes on the outward world, and sees things, and per-
haps wonders what they are ; but it don't know any thing about
them or itself. It don't know the uses of any thing; there is
no worship in it.
Flesh.
Instinct of
Infancy.


1843.)
451
Worship.
MR. Alcott. But in this feeling of wonder and admiration
which it has, is there not the beginning of worship that will at
last find its object ?
Josiah. No; there is not even the beginning of worship.
It must have some temptation, I think, before it can know the
thing to worship.
Mr. Alcott. But is there not a feeling that comes up from
within, to answer to the things that come to the eyes and ears?
Josiah. But feeling is not worship, Mr. Alcott.
Mr. Alcott. Can there be worship without feeling?
Josiah. No; but there can be feeling without worship. For
instance, if I prick my hand with a pin, I feel, to be sure, but
I do not worship.
Mr. Alcott. That is bodily feeling. But what I mean is,
that the little infant finds its power to worship in the feeling
which is first only admiration of what is without
Josiah. No, no; I know what surprise is, and I know what
admiration is; and perhaps the little creature feels that. But she
does not know enough to know that she has Conscience, or that
there is temptation. My little sister feels, and she knows some
things; but she does not worship. *
Mr. Alcott. Now I wish you all to think. What have
*** we been talking about to-day?
CHARLES. Spiritual Worship.
Mr. Alcott. And what have we concluded it to be?
Charles. The Worship of Spirit in Conscience.
Subject.
One of the most frequent objections raised against the
principle of an interior development is, that the answers
are not really those of the children, but of the teacher.
And in proof of this, parents have adduced the fact, that
they never could succeed in eliciting such expressions from
their own children, as these printed conversations report.
The latter is quite true ; but it does not prove the former
assumption. A truly spiritual mind is requisite to the just-
ly putting a spiritual question ; and this is not attained by
imitation, nor by education wholly, but by genius chiefly,
by generation, by the Spirit's presence. In the few leisure
moments of a mercantile man, there can be none of that
large and deep preparation which preceded these remarka-
* Here I was obliged to pause, as I was altogether fatigued with keep-
ing my pen in long and uncommonly constant requisition. I was ena-
bled to preserve the words better than usual, because Josiah had so much
of the conversation, whose enunciation is slow, and whose fine choice of
language and steadiness of mind, makes him easy to follow and remem-
ber. - Recorder.


452
[April,
A. Bronson Alcott's Works.
ble results, of which we readily concede such a parent may
rationally doubt. The anxieties of domestic life, whether
rich or poor, also preclude the mother from coming into
that serene and high relationship to her little ones, without
which no approach to spirit-culture can be effected. Skep-
ticism is unavoidable until the doubter is in a position to
try the experiment, and such position is unattainable while
he doubts.
But supposing it were a fact, that the responses are not
spontaneous but mere echoes of the teacher's mind, it is
not a small achievement to have discovered a mode of tui-
tion which, while it is highly agreeable to the student, suc-
ceeds so well in making him acquainted with the deepest
facts of all existence. Could it not, then, still more easily
open to him the superficial facts, to attain which years and
years of dull laborious college life are painfully occupied ?
If the laws in moral consciousness can there be presented
to children; assuredly the reported facts in history and
language should not be suffered to be any longer a griev-
ous burden to our young men.
The Record we estimate as a very valuable book for
teachers, and therefore find it difficult to make any extract
which shall do justice to the work. Nor is it needful in
this case, as the book is within the reach of all. The tal-
ented Recorder informs us that
“ This book makes no high pretensions. It is an address to
parents, who are often heard to express their want of such prin-
ciples, and such a plan, as it is even in the author's power to
afford. It will perhaps be more useful than if it were a more
elaborate performance; for many will take up the record of an
actual school, and endeavor to understand its principles and
plans, who would shrink from undertaking to master a work,
professing to exhaust a subject, which has its roots and its is-
sues in eternity; as this great subject of education certainly
has.” – Preface to Record of a School, 1st Edition.
A transcript of one of the quarterly cards will, however,
help to some idea of the comprehensive extent of the tui-
tion, and it offers a field worthy the diligent study of all
teachers.


1843.]
Programme.
453

in
QUARTER CARD OF DISCIPLINE AND STUDIES IN MR. ALCOTT'S SCHOOL FOR THE WINTER TERM CURRENT 1837.
THE TUITION AND DISCIPLINE ARE ADDRESSED IN DUE PROPORTION TO THE THREEFOLD NATURE OF MAN.
THE SPIRITUAL FACULTY.
THE IMAGINATIVE FACULTY.
THE RATIONAL FACULTY.
MEANS OF ITS DIRECT CULTURE.
MEANS OF ITS DIRECT CULTURE.
MEANS OF ITS DIRECT CULTURE.
Listening to Sacred Readings on Sunday Morning.
Spelling and Reading.
Defining Words.
Conversations on the GOSPELS.
Writing and Sketching Maps.
Analyzing Speech
Keeping Journals.
Picturesque Geography.
Self-Inspection and Self-Analysis.
Self-Analysis and Self-Discipline.
Writing Journals, Epistles, and Paraphrases.
Demonstrations in Arithmetic.
Conversations on Study and Behavior.
Illustrating Words.
Reasonings on Conduct and Discipline.
Government of the School,
Conversations and Amusements.
Review of Conduct and Study.
The Subjects of Study and Means of Discipline are disposed through the Week in the following general Order.
TIME. SUNDAY
MONDAY TUESDAY. I WEDNESDAY THURSDAY 1 FRIDAY.
SATURDAY.
IX
WRITING
WRITING
WRITING
WRITING
WRITING
PREPARING
SACRED
JOURNALS
JOURNALS
JOURNALS
JOURNALS
JOURNALS JOURNALS AND
and
and
and
and
and
BOOKS
READINGS,
Studying Lessons. Studying Lesso