dhood by the study of works utterly unfit for the nourishment of a child's mind, and in after life, it was further stimulated by the adulation of circles who place the highest value upon Intelligence, and no value at all upon Wisdom.
It cost her the best years of her life to unlearn the errors, and to overcome the mental habits of her earlier years.
But she did it. Her triumph was complete.
She attained modesty, serenity, disinterestedness, self-control.
The spirit in which we work, says Goethe, is the highest matter.
What charms and blesses the reader of Margaret Fuller's essays, is not the knowledge they convey, nor the understanding they reveal, but the ineffably sweet, benign, tenderly humane and serenely high spirit which they breathe in every paragraph and phrase.
During a part of the time of her connection with the Tribune, Miss Fuller resided at Mr. Greeley's house, on the banks of the East river, opposite the lower end of Blackwell's island.
This place, she wrote, is
much more nearly mad than their fellow-citizens.
Girard, the tough, sensible, benevolent banker of Philadelphia was an oddity; and so was that other Philadelphian who placed all his hopes of distinction upon his persistence in the practice of not wearing a hat. Franklin was an oddity; and so was he who, says popular tradition, took his nightly repose in a lime-kiln, and never used a clothes-brush.
It is best, perhaps, not to be odd; and, certainly, the wisest man need not be. The saying of Goethe on this subject seems good and commendable, that people who are compelled to differ from the world in important things should take all the more pains to conform to it in things unimportant.
Yet all large towns contain one or more—always one—of the eccentric sort.
It is a way large towns have.
I have seen Horace Greeley in Broadway on Sunday morning with a hole in his elbow and straws clinging to his hat. I have seen him asleep while Alboni was singing her grandest.
When he is asked res
Such men differ from the poets and authors of their day, precisely in the same way, though not, perhaps, in the same degree, as the Apostles differed from Cicero, Seneca, and Virgil.
Between the Clays and Websters of this country and Horace Greeley, the difference is similar in kind. Horace Greeley, Thomas Carlyle, and Dr. Arnold, have each uttered much which, perhaps, the world will not finally accept.
Such men seem particularly liable to a certain class of mistakes.
But, says Goethe's immortal maxim, The Spirit in which we act is the highest matter—and it is the contagious, the influencing matter.
See how these Christians love one another.
That was what made converts!
A young man of liberal soul, ardent mind, small experience, limited knowledge, no capital, and few friends, is likely to be exceedingly perplexed on his entrance upon the stage of life.
The difficulties in his own path, if he has a path, and the horrors that overshadow his soul, if he has not, call h