In my own case, whatever of enthusiasm I may have had, whatever transports of feeling, whatever glow of hope for mankind, whatever ardor of anticipation for the future, whatever exhilaration of mind towards God, whatever elation in the presence of disbelief in the popular theology, may be fairly ascribed to this form of the ideal philosophy. It was like a revelation of glory. Every good thought was encouraged. Every noble impulse was heightened. It was balm and elixir to me. If transcendentalism did not appear as a sun illuminating the entire mental universe it was the fault of my exposition alone. Absolute faith in that form of philosophy grew weak and passed away many years since, and the assurance it gave was shaken; but the sunset flush continued a long time after the orb of day had disappeared and lighted up the earth. Gradually the splendor faded, to be succeeded by a softer and more tranquil gleam, less stimulating but not less beautiful or glorious. The world looks larger under the light of stars. I always loved Blanco White's magnificent sonnet to Night, but never appreciated its full significance until the scientific view had succeeded to the transcendental, and I began to walk by knowledge, steadily and surely, but not buoyantly any more. It would be a mistake to suppose that anything like pain, sadness, or sterility accompanies the departure of an old faith, when a new one takes its place and soon opens fresh prospects of good. The universe but grows larger: other methods are adopted, other hopes are entertained, other consolations are presented, and soon the mind adjusts itself to the altered conditions. The downcast mood of George Eliot, of the author of "Physicus," and of many another less distinguished unbeliever, may be due in part to temperament, in part to the first feeling of chill that ensues upon a transitional period, which brings in a different climate; but the allegation of lasting coldness, gloom, discontent, is wholly groundless. The old fable says that quails drop from the clouds, that even rocks quench the traveller's thirst. There is, in short, no wilderness.