Can I say it? I believe it should be said. Here I cannot end. They
are too near me; they do not awaken in me that sense of their high
superiority which would keep me here to be bettered, to be elevated.
They have much, very much. I desire Mr. Alcott's strength of
self-denial, and the unselfishness of Mr. Lane in money matters. In
both these they are far my superiors. I would be meek, humble, and
sit at their feet that I might be as they are. They do not understand
me, but if I am what my consciousness, my heart, lead me to feel--if
I am not deceived--why then I can wait. Yes, patiently wait. Is not
this the first time since I have been here that I have recovered
myself? Do I not feel that I have something to receive here, to add
to, to increase my highest life, which I have never felt anywhere
else?

"Is this sufficient to keep me here? If I can prophesy, I must say
no. I feel that it will not fill my capacity. O God! strengthen my
resolution. Let me not waver, and continue my life. But I am sinful.
Oh, forgive my sins! What shall I do, O Lord! that they may be
blotted out? Lord, could I only blot them from my memory, nothing
would be too great or too much."

"July 18.--I have thought of my family this afternoon, and the
happiness and love with which I might return to them. To leave them,
to give up the thought of living with them again--can I entertain
that idea? Still, I cannot conceive how I can engage in business,
share the practices, and indulge myself with the food and garmenture
(_sic_) of our home and city. To return home, were it possible for
me, would most probably not only stop my progress, but put me back.

"It is useless for me to speculate upon my future. Put dependence on
the spirit which leads me, be faithful to it; work, and leave results
to God. If the question should be asked me, whether I would give up
my kindred and business and follow out this spirit-life, or return
and enjoy them both, I could not hesitate a moment, for they would
not compare--there would be no room for choice. What I do I must do,
for it is not I that do it; it is the spirit. What that spirit may be
is a question I cannot answer, What it leads me to do will be the
only evidence of its character. I feel as impersonal as a stranger to
it. I ask, Who are you? Where are you going to take me? Why me? Why
not some one else? I stand amazed, astonished to see myself. Alas! I
cry, who am I and what does this mean? and I am lost in wond