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KING PELLINORE’S LITERARY MAGAZINE

suffers nothing to remain in her kingdoms which cannot
help itself. The genesis and maturation of a planet, its
poise and orbit, the bended tree recovering itself from the
strong wind, the vital resources of every animal and
vegetable, are demonstrations of the self-sufficing, and
therefore self-relying soul.

Thus all concentrates: let us not rove; let us sit at
home with the cause. Let us stun and astonish the
intruding rabble of men and books and institutions, by a
simple declaration of the divine fact. Bid the invaders take
the shoes from off their feet, for God is here within. Let
our simplicity judge them, and our docility to our own law
demonstrate the poverty of nature and fortune beside our
native riches.

But now we are a mob. Man does not stand in awe of
man, nor is his genius admonished to stay at home, to put
itself in communication with the internal ocean, but it
goes abroad to beg a cup of water of the urns of other
men. We must go alone. I like the silent church before the
service begins, better than any preaching. How far off,
how cool, how chaste the persons look, begirt each one
with a precinct or sanctuary! So let us always sit. Why
should we assume the faults of our friend, or wife, or
father, or child, because they sit around our hearth, or are
said to have the same blood? All men have my blood, and I
have all men's. Not for that will I adopt their petulance or
folly, even to the extent of being ashamed of it. But your
isolation must not be mechanical, but spiritual, that is,
must be elevation. At times the whole world seems to be in
conspiracy to importune you with emphatic trifles. Friend,
client, child, sickness, fear, want, charity, all knock at
once at thy closet door, and say, — 'Come out unto us.'
But keep thy state; come not into their confusion. The
power men possess to annoy me, I give them by a weak
curiosity. No man can come near me but through my act.
"What we love that we have, but by desire we bereave
ourselves of the love."

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