On the other hand, when I asked one of the elders how far he believed that their hymns are inspired, he asked me whether it did not happen that I wrote with greater facility at one time than at another; and when I replied in the affirmative, he said, "In that case I should say you were inspired when your words come readily, and to that degree I suppose our hymn-writers are inspired. They have thought about the subject, and the words at last come to them." I think I have before said that the Shakers do not attempt to suppress discussion of the relations of the sexes; they do not pretend that their celibate life is without hardships or difficulties; but they boldly assert that they have chosen the better life, and defend their position with not a little skill against all attacks. A good many years ago Miss Charlotte Cushman, after a visit to Watervliet, wrote the following lines, which were published in the _Knickerbocker Magazine_: "Mysterious worshipers! Are you indeed the things you seem to be, Of earth--yet of its iron influence free--From all that stirs Our being's pulse, and gives to fleeting life What well the Hun has termed 'the rapture of the strife.' "Are the gay visions gone, Those day-dreams of the mind, by fate there flung, And the fair hopes to which the soul once clung, And battled on; Have ye outlived them? All that must have sprung, And quicken'd into life, when ye were young? "Does memory never roam To ties that, grown with years, ye idly sever, To the old haunts that ye have left forever--Your early homes? Your ancient creed, once faith's sustaining lever, The loved who erst prayed with you--now may never? "Has not ambition's paean Some power within your hearts to wake anew To deeds of higher emprise--worthier you, Ye monkish men, Than may be reaped from fields? Do ye not rue The drone-like course of life ye now pursue? "The camp--the council--all That woos the soldier to the field of fame-- That gives the sage his meed--the bard his name And coronal-- Bidding a people's voice their praise proclaim; Can ye forego the strife, nor own your shame? "Have ye forgot your youth, When expectation soared on pinions high, And hope shone out on boyhood's cloudless sky, Seeming all truth-- When all looked fair to fancy's ardent eye, And pleasure wore an air of sorcery? "You, too! What early blight Has withered your fond hopes, that ye thus stand, A group of sisters, 'mong this monkish band? Ye creatures bright! Has sorrow scored your brows with demon hand, Or o'er your hopes passed treachery's burning brand? "Ye would have graced right well The bridal scene, the banquet, or the bowers Where mirth and revelry usurp the hours--Where, like a spell, Beauty is sovereign--where man owns its powers, And woman's tread is o'er a path of flowers.