Then
each moment, each act, shall be true. The pupil has found the
carbuncle,[B] but knows not yet how to use it day by day. But
"though his companions wondered at the pupil, the master loved
him." He loves me, my friends. Do ye trust me. Wash the tears
and black stains from the records of my life by the benignity
of a true glance; make each discord harmony, by striking
again the key-note; forget the imperfect interviews, burn the
imperfect letters, till at last the full song bursts forth,
the key-stone is given from heaven to the arch, the past is
all pardoned and atoned for, and we live forever in the Now.'
* *
* * * * *
'Henceforth I hope I shall not write letters thus full of
childish feeling; for in feeling I am indeed a child, and the
least of children. Soon I must return into the Intellect, for
_there_ in sight, at least, I am a man, and could write the
words very calmly and in steadfast flow. But, lately, the
intellect has been so subordinated to the soul, that I am
not free to enter the Basilikon, and plead and hear till I am
called.
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