remains to be shown how any exception is admissible _here_. That a tree can be both a tree and not a tree, is an idea which the angels, or the devils, _may_ entertain, and which no doubt many an earthly Bedlamite, or Transcendentalist, _does_. “Now I do not quarrel with these ancients,” continues the letter-writer, “_so much_ on account of the transparent frivolity of their logic—which, to be plain, was baseless, worthless and fantastic altogether—as on account of their pompous and infatuate proscription of all _other_ roads to Truth than the two narrow and crooked paths—the one of creeping and the other of crawling—to which, in their ignorant perversity, they have dared to confine the Soul—the Soul which loves nothing so well as to soar in those regions of illimitable intuition which are utterly incognizant of ‘_path_.’ “By the bye, my dear friend, is it not an evidence of the mental slavery entailed upon those bigoted people by their Hogs and Rams, that in spite of the eternal prating of their savans about _roads_ to Truth, none of them fell, even by accident, into what we now so distinctly perceive to be the broadest, the straightest and most available of all mere roads—the great thoroughfare—the majestic highway of the _Consistent_? Is it not wonderful that they should have failed to deduce from the works of God the vitally momentous consideration that _a perfect consistency can be nothing but an absolute truth_? How plain—how rapid our progress since the late announcement of this proposition! By its means, investigation has been taken out of the hands of the ground-moles, and given as a duty, rather than as a task, to the true—to the _only_ true thinkers—to the generally-educated men of ardent imagination. These latter—our Keplers—our Laplaces—‘speculate’—‘theorize’—these are the terms—can you not fancy the shout of scorn with which they would be received by our progenitors, were it possible for them to be looking over my shoulders as I write? The Keplers, I repeat, speculate—theorize—and their theories are merely corrected—reduced—sifted—cleared, little by little, of their chaff of inconsistency—until at length there stands apparent an unencumbered _Consistency_—a consistency which the most stolid admit—because it _is_ a consistency—to be an absolute and an unquestionable _Truth_.