Bronson Alcott constantly sought self-improvement, and the shortcomings of his early education were more than offset by his untiring study. Realizing at one time his lack of a vocabulary, he comments in his journal, that to rectify this he has just bought two books, "A Symposium of Melancholy," and "Hunter on the Blood." In their memoirs of Bronson Alcott, F. B. Sanborn and W. T. Harris have thus summed up his character: "He was the most filial son, the most faithful lover, the most attached friend, the most generous philanthropist of his time. And when he died, he left fewer enemies than any man of equal age can have provoked or encountered in so long a career." In his study of childhood, Mr. Alcott sought first to reach the mind, recognizing that as "the God within us." He encouraged individuality in his children, trying in their earliest years to make them think for themselves. All through his teaching runs the boy's friendship with God, and his sense of oneness with his Maker was a part of the divine heritage he passed on to his daughters. He records in his diary a conversation with Anna, who was four, and Louisa, who was two, after reading to them the story of Jesus, which he made so vital that, given their choice, they asked for it in preference to a fairy tale. Anna remarked that Jesus did not really die. "They killed his body, but not his soul." Her father asked: "What is the soul, Anna?" The little four-year-old replied: "It's this inside of me that makes me feel and think and love." "And," said the father, "what became of Jesus' soul?" Anna replied: "It went back to God." Whereat little two-year-old Louisa asked: "Why, isn't Dod inside of me?" A note in the father's diary at the birth of Elizabeth records "Anna's first interview with her sister" (Elizabeth a few hours old), and a day later comes this record: "Anna and Louisa interview their sister." Louisa, two years old, wishes to have the baby sister put in her arms, when four-year-old Anna says warningly: "Treat her very carefully, Louisa, she comes from God." What a beautiful thought to give a child of the divine mystery of birth! Instead of asserting what he intended to make of his children, Alcott encouraged the child to make itself, beginning when it was a small baby, treating it as an individual, giving it opportunity to use its mentality, instilling principles of right and wrong by suggestion. Alcott never commanded. "You don't wish to do that," was his way, not exacting blind obedience, but expressing his conviction that the child wished to do right. To him, God was love. He had no fear of God, for perfect love had cast out fear. This same spirit was manifested in all his children. To them the change called Death was not to be dreaded; it was a stepping forward and upward. This thought that death is not the end, but the beginning, is expressed in one of Louisa's most beautiful poems: THOREAU'S FLUTE