vegetables where it nestles. Of the plants which, though they grow in the dark, only make long shoots, and refuse to seek their flower.
“There was a time when one such fact would have made my day brilliant with thought. But now I seek the divine rather in Love than law.”[1]
If even these simpler thoughts show a tendency to link themselves with something a little far-fetched and fantastic, we must remember that this was a period when German romance was just invading us; when Carlyle was translating the fantasy-pieces of Tieck, Hoffmann, and Musæus; and when some young Harvard students spent a summer vacation in rendering into English the mysteries of “Henry of Ofterdingen,” by Novalis. Margaret Fuller took her share in this; typified the mysteries of the soul as “Leila,” in the “Dial,” and wrote verses about herself, under that name, in her diary: —
| “ | Leila, of all demanding heart |
| By each and every left apart; | |
| Leila, of all pursuing mind | |
| From each goal left far behind; | |
| Strive on, Leila, to the end, | |
| Let not thy native courage bend; | |
| Strive on, Leila, day by day, | |
| Though bleeding feet stain all the way; | |
| Do men reject thee and despise? — | |
| An angel in thy bosom lies | |
| And to thy death its birth replies.”[2] |
These were her days of thought and exaltation. Other days were given to society, usually in Bos-
