Correspondence.
Hartford, Aug., 1886.
To the Path,
Dear Friend:—I like the Path much. I have noted many articles that I am anxious to get time to read at my leisure. They are full of the meat that satisfieth the soul. How this on-coming wave from esoteric and mystic sources has rushed upon us within the past few years! ‘Tis a veritable ground-swell, and it seems to stretch out to all shores, and its sources are from Infinity itself. Surely, that that we need, does come to us at the right time. The demands of the soul imply that the requisite supply is somewhere in existence. The glass of sparkling cold water tendered by Emerson to Frederika Bremer at the crystal spring at which they halted by the road-side, is symbolic of the wants of the spiritual nature. Her comments upon it, are in the line of thought I have touched upon:
“A glass of water! How much may be comprised in this gift! Why this should become significant to me on this occasion, I cannot say; but so it was. I have silently within myself combated with Emerson from the first time that I became acquainted with him. I have questioned in what consisted this power of the spirit over me, while I so much disapproved of his mode of thinking. In what consisted his mysterious, magical power,—that invigorating, refreshing influence which I always experience in his writings, or in intercourse with him? This cordial draught of clear water from the spring, given by his hand, I understood it. It is precisely this crystal, pure, fresh cold water in his individual character, in his writings, which has refreshed, and will again and yet again refresh me. I have opposed Emerson in thought with myself. * * * But in long years to come, and when I am far from here in my own native land, and when I am old and gray,—yes, always, always will moments recur when I shall yearn toward Waldo Emerson, and long to receive from his hand that draught of fresh water.”
Emerson drew from invisible sources, and Miss Bremer’s fine tribute is all the stronger because it comes in spite of orthodox prejudice. But I have turned off into an unexpected “path,” and my time is up, and I must end abruptly, as usual.
Yours fraternally,
F. E.
Marseilles, Aug., 1886.