, of course; but these were, so to speak,
the primary strata of the formation, underlying the other elements,
determining their tendencies, and cropping out through them.

This child was all but empty, unsubstantial, imperfect; incapable, then,
of much life from within itself, little helped by thoughts or other aid
from without. The efforts made by others to operate on it were faithful,
kindly, well meant, but not adapted to its individuality. The fact is,
that, so far as they had any supposed basis on system, it was on the
Scotch empirical analysis of perception, conception, reason, will; a
Procrustean mental philosophy which absolutely ignores individuality,
and assumes that all human beings are alike. It is as good as the little
boys' conventional system of portraiture. A round O, two dots, a
perpendicular line between them, and a horizontal one across below,
displays every face. Such was Christ and such was Judas; such was
Messalina and such was Florence Nightingale. But there is a better
philosophy of the mind.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] The paragraphs here following were written in the summer of 1862,
and had been meditated or memorandumed long before. Thus they were not
derived from the similar disquisitions of Gail Hamilton in the Atlantic
for January, 1863. There is no danger that anybody will suspect that
_spirituelle_ lady of extracting her sunbeams out of my poor old
cucumbers.

HER PILGRIMAGE.

IN MEMORIAM, JANUARY 12, 1866.

The snow-flakes floated many a star
To earth, from pale December's skies,
When a fair spirit from afar
Smiled through an infant's violet eyes.

And as she sweetly breathed, the hours
Wove, like a robe of gossamer,
All grace about her, while the flowers
Their tints and perfumes gave to her.

In after time, when violets grew,
And pale anemones veiled the land,
She drooped her modest eyes of blue,
And gave to Love her maiden hand.

Four times the holy angels came,
To greet her with a dear unrest;
And, in a mother's saintly name,
Left a young angel on her breast.

Eight lustrums pure celestial eyes
Beamed through her tender, loving gaze,
Commingling all the sweet surprise
Of heavenly with the earthly rays.

_At last_, her gentle face grew pale
As the anemones of spring;
And whiter than her bridal veil
Was that in which she took her wing.

And tha