in　which　I　pierced　the　Arcana　of　our　knowledge；　have　I　ever
  sought　to　make　its　mysteries　subservient　to　unworthy　objects；
  though；　alas！　the　extension　of　our　existence　robs　us　of　a　country
  and　a　home；　though　the　law　that　places　all　science；　as　all　art；
  in　the　abstraction　from　the　noisy　passions　and　turbulent　ambition
  of　actual　life；　forbids　us　to　influence　the　destinies　of　nations；
  for　which　Heaven　selects　ruder　and　blinder　agencies；　yet；
  wherever　have　been　my　wanderings；　I　have　sought　to　soften
  distress；　and　to　convert　from　sin。　　My　power　has　been　hostile
  only　to　the　guilty；　and　yet　with　all　our　lore；　how　in　each　step
  we　are　reduced　to　be　but　the　permitted　instruments　of　the　Power
  that　vouchsafes　our　own；　but　only　to　direct　it。　　How　all　our
  wisdom　shrinks　into　nought；　compared　with　that　which　gives　the
  meanest　herb　its　virtues；　and　peoples　the　smallest　globule　with
  its　appropriate　world。　　And　while　we　are　allowed　at　times　to
  influence　the　happiness　of　others；　how　mysteriously　the　shadows
  thicken　round　our　own　future　doom！　　We　cannot　be　prophets　to
  ourselves！　　With　what　trembling　hope　I　nurse　the　thought　that　I
  may　preserve　to　my　solitude　the　light　of　a　living　smile！
  。。。
  Extracts　from　Letter　II。
  Deeming　myself　not　pure　enough　to　initiate　so　pure　a　heart；　I
  invoke　to　her　trance　those　fairest　and　most　tender　inhabitants　of
  space　that　have　furnished　to　poetry；　which　is　the　instinctive
  guess　into　creation；　the　ideas　of　the　Glendoveer　and　Sylph。　　And
  these　were　less　pure　than　her　own　thoughts；　and　less　tender　than
  her　own　love！　　They　could　not　raise　her　above　her　human　heart；
  for　THAT　has　a　heaven　of　its　own。
  。。。
  I　have　just　looked　on　her　in　sleep；I　have　heard　her　breathe　my
  name。　　Alas！　that　which　is　so　sweet　to　others　has　its　bitterness
  to　me；　for　I　think　how　soon　the　time　may　come　when　that　sleep
  will　be　without　a　dream；when　the　heart　that　dictates　the　name
  will　be　cold；　and　the　lips　that　utter　it　be　dumb。　　What　a　twofold
  shape　there　is　in　love！　　If　we　examine　it　coarsely；if　we　look
  but　on　its　fleshy　ties；　its　enjoyments　of　a　moment；　its　turbulent
  fever　and　its　dull　reaction；how　strange　it　seems　that　this
  passion　should　be　the　supreme　mover　of　the　world；　that　it　is　this
  which　has　dictated　the　greatest　sacrifices；　and　influenced　all
  societies　and　all　times；　that　to　this　the　loftiest　and　loveliest
  genius　has　ever　consecrated　its　devotion；　that；　but　for　love；
  there　were　no　civilisation；　no　music；　no　poetry；　no　beauty；　no
  life　beyond　the　brute's。
  But　examine　it　in　its　heavenlier　shape；in　its　utter　abnegation
  of　self；　in　its　intimate　connection　with　all　that　is　most
  delicate　and　subtle　in　the　spirit；its　power　above　all　that　is
  sordid　in　existence；　its　mastery　over　the　idols　of　the　baser
  worship；　its　ability　to　create　a　palace　of　the　cottage；　an　oasis
  in　the　desert；　a　summer　in　the　Iceland；where　it　breathes；　and
  fertilises；　and　glows；　and　the　wonder　rather　becomes　how　so　few
  regard　it　in　its　holiest　nature。　　What　the　sensual　call　its
  enjoyments；　are　the　least　of　its　joys。　　True　love　is　less　a
  passion　than　a　symbol。　　Mejnour；　shall　the　time　come　when　I　can
  speak　to　thee　of　Viola　as　a　thing　that　was？
  。。。
  Extract　from　Letter　III。
  Knowest　thou　that　of　late　I　have　sometimes　asked　myself；　〃Is
  there　no　guilt　in　the　knowledge　that　has　so　divided　us　from　our
  race？〃　　It　is　true　that　the　higher　we　ascend　the　more　hateful
  seem　to　us　the　vices　of　the　short…lived　creepers　of　the　earth；
  the　more　the　sense　of　the　goodness　of　the　All…good　penetrates　and
  suffuses　us；　and　the　more　immediately　does　our　happiness　seem　to
  emanate　from　him。　　But；　on　the　other　hand；　how　many　virtues　must
  lie　dead　in　those　who　live　in　the　world　of　death；　and　refuse　to
  die！　　Is　not　this　sublime　egotism；　this　state　of　abstraction　and
  reverie；this　self…wrapped　and　self…dependent　majesty　of
  existence；　a　resignation　of　that　nobility　which　incorporates　our
  own　welfare；　our　joys；　our　hopes；　our　fears　with　others？　　To　live
  on　in　no　dread　of　foes；　undegraded　by　infirmity；　secure　through
  the　cares；　and　free　from　the　disease　of　flesh；　is　a　spectacle
  that　captivates　our　pride。　　And　yet　dost　thou　not　more　admire　him
  who　dies　for　another？　　Since　I　have　loved　her；　Mejnour；　it　seems
  almost　cowardice　to　elude　the　grave　which　devours　the　hearts　that
  wrap　us　in　their　folds。　　I　feel　it；the　earth　grows　upon　my
  spirit。　　Thou　wert　right；　eternal　age；　serene　and　passionless；　is
  a　happier　boon　than　eternal　youth；　with　its　yearnings　and
  desires。　　Until　we　can　be　all　spirit；　the　tranquillity　of
  solitude　must　be　indifference。
  。。。
  Extracts　from　Letter　IV。
  I　have　received　thy　communication。　　What！　is　it　so？　　Has　thy
  pupil　disappointed　thee？　　Alas；　poor　pupil！　　But
  。。。
  （Here　follow　comments　on　those　passages　in　Glyndon's　life　already
  known　to　the　reader；　or　about　to　be　made　so；　with　earnest
  adjurations　to　Mejnour　to　watch　yet　over　the　fate　of　his
  scholar。）
  。。。
  But　I　cherish　the　same　desire；　with　a　warmer　heart。　　My　pupil！
  how　the　terrors　that　shall　encompass　thine　ordeal　warn　me　from
  the　task！　　Once　more　I　will　seek　the　Son　of　Light。
  。。。
  Yes；　Adon…Ai；　long　deaf　to　my　call；　at　last　has　descended　to　my
  vision；　and　left　behind　him　the　glory　of　his　presence　in　the
  shape　of　Hope。　　Oh；　not　impossible；　Viola；not　impossible；　that
  we　yet　may　be　united；　soul　with　soul！
  Extract　from　Letter　V。（Many　months　after　the　last。）
  Mejnour；　awake　from　thine　apathy；rejoice！　　A　new　soul　will　be
  born　to　the　world；a　new　soul　that　shall　call　me　father。　　Ah；　if
  they　for　whom　exist　all　the　occupations　and　resources　of　human
  life；if　they　can　thrill　with　exquisite　emotion　at　the　thought
  of　hailing　again　their　own　childhood　in　the　faces　of　their
  children；　if　in　that　birth　they　are　born　once　more　into　the　holy
  Innocence　which　is　the　first　state　of　existence；　if　they　can　feel
  that　on　man　devolves　almost　an　angel's　duty；　when　he　has　a　life
  to　guide　from　the　cradle；　and　a　soul　to　nurture　for　the　heaven；
  what　to　me　must　be　the　rapture　to　welcome　an　inheritor　of　all　the
  gifts　which　double　themselves　in　being　shared！　　How　sweet　the
  power　to　watch；　and　to　guard；to　instil　the　knowledge；　to　avert
  the　evil；　and　to　guide　back　the　river　of　life　in　a　richer　and
  broader　and　deeper　stream　to　the　paradise　from　which　it　flows！
  And　beside　that　river　our　souls　shall　meet；　sweet　mother。　　Our
  child　shall　supply　the　sympathy　that　fails　as　yet；　and　what　shape
  shall　haunt　thee；　what　terror　shall　dismay；　when　thy　initiation
  is　beside　the　cradle　of　thy　child！
  CHAPTER　4。XI。
  They　thus　beguile　the　way
  Untill　the　blustring　storme　is　overblowne；
  When　weening　to　returne　whence　they　did　stray；
  They　cannot　finde　that　path　which　first　was　showne；
  But　wander　to　and　fro　in　waies　unknowne。
  Spenser's　〃Faerie　Queene；〃　book　i。　canto　i。　st。　x。
  Yes；　Viola；　thou　art　another　being　than　when；　by　the　threshold　of
  thy　Italian　home；　thou　didst　follow　thy　dim　fancies　through　the
  Land　of　Shadow；　or　when　thou　didst　vainly　seek　to　give　voice　to
  an　ideal　beauty；　on　the　boards　where　illusion　counterfeits　earth
  and　heaven　for　an　hour；　till　the　weary　sense；　awaking；　sees　but
  the　tinsel　and　the　scene…shifter。　　Thy　spirit　reposes　in　its　own
  happiness。　　Its　wanderings　have　found　a　goal。　　In　a　moment　there
  often　dwells　the　sense　of　eternity；　for　when　profoundly　happy；　we
  know　that　it　is　impossible　to　die。　　Whenever　the　soul　FEELS
  ITSELF；　it　feels　everlasting　life。
  The　initiation　is　deferred；thy　days　and　nights　are　left　to　no
  other　visions　than　those　with　which　a　contented　heart　enchants　a
  guileless　fancy。　　Glendoveers　and　Sylphs；　pardon　me　if　I　question
  whether　those　visions　are　not　lovelier　than　yourselves。
  They　stand　by　the　beach；　and　see　the　sun　sinking　into　the　sea。
  How　long　now　have　they　dwelt　on　that　island？　　What　matters！it
  may　be　months；　or　yearswhat　matters！　　Why　should　I；　or　they；
  keep　account　of　that　happy　time？　　As　in　the　dream　of　a　moment
  ages　may　seem　to　pass；　so　shall　we　measure　transport　or　woe；by
  the　length　of　the　dream；　or　the　number　of　emotions　that　the　dream
  involves？
  The　sun　sinks　slowly　down；　the　air　is　arid　and　oppressive；　on　the
  sea；　the　stately　vessel　lies　motionless；　on　the　shore；　no　leaf
  trembles　on　the　trees。
  Viola　drew　nearer　to　Zanoni。　　A　presentiment　she　could　not　define
  made　her　heart　beat　more　quickly；　and；　looking　into　his　face；　she
  was　struck　with　its　expression：　　it　was　anxious；　abstracted；
  perturbed。　　〃This　stillness　awes　me；〃　she　whispered。
  Zanoni　did　not　seem　to　hear　her。　　He　muttered　to　himself；　and　his
  eyes　gazed　round　restlessly。　　She　knew　not　why；　but　that　gaze；
  which　seemed　to　pierce　into　space；that　muttered　voice　in　some
  foreign　languagerevived　dimly　her　earlier　superstitions。　　She
  was　more　fearful　since　the　hour　when　she　knew　that　she　was　to　be
  a　mother。　　Strange　crisis　in　the　life　of　woman；　an