estranged from each other, at one again. It was an anatomist's account of the human body, in the highest style of poetry. Nothing can exceed the bold and brilliant treatment of a subject usually so dry and repulsive. Swedenborg saw Nature 'wreathing through an everlasting spiral, with wheels that never dry, on axles that never creak,' and sometimes sought 'to uncover those secret recesses where Nature is sitting at the fires in the depths of her laboratory;' whilst the picture comes recommended by the hard fidelity with which it is based on practical anatomy. … He knows, if he only, the flowing of Nature, and how wise was that old answer of Amasis to him who bade him drink upon the sea—'Yes, willingly, if you will stop the rivers that flow in.' Few knew as much about Nature and her subtle manners, or expressed more subtly her goings. He thought as large a demand is made on our faith by Nature, as by miracles. He noted that in her proceeding from first principle through her several subordinations, there was no state through which she did not pass, as if her path lay through all things. … For as often as she betakes herself upward from visible phenomena, or, in other words, withdraws herself inward, she instantly, as it were, disappears, while no one knows what has become of her, or whither she is gone; so that it is necessary to take science as a guide in pursuing her steps.'"
"To what a painful perversion," concludes Emerson, "had Gothic theology arrived, that Swedenborg admitted no conversion for evil
