that come, and see if just such a book does not grow up. ——, however, was one of the few who do not over-estimate her; she truly thought Bettine only publishes what many burn. Would not genius be common as light, if men trusted their higher selves?’
‘I heard in town that —— is a father, and has gone
to see his child. This news made me more grave even
than such news usually does; I suppose because I have
known the growth of his character so intimately. I
called to mind a letter he had written me of what we
had expected of our fathers. The ideal father, the
profoundly wise, provident, divinely tender and benign, he
is indeed the God of the human heart. How solemn
this moment of being called to prepare the way, to
make way for another generation! What fulfilment
does it claim in the character of a man, that he should
be worthy to be a father! — what purity of motive,
what dignity, what knowledge! When I recollect how
deep the anguish, how deeper still the want, with which
I walked alone in hours of childish passion, and called
for a Father, often saying the word a hundred times, till
stifled by sobs, how great seems the duty that name
imposes! Were but the harmony preserved throughout!
Could the child keep learning his earthly, as he
does his heavenly Father, from all best experience of
life, till at last it were the climax: “I am the Father.
Have ye seen me? — ye have seen the Father.” But
how many sons have we to make one father? Surely,
to spirits, not only purified but perfected, this must
appear the climax of earthly being, — a wise and worthy
parentage. Here I always sympathize with Mr. Alcott.
He views the relation truly.’
