I see her not a dream--not an airy form haunting the unreal walks of night, to vanish when cockcrow recalls us to the cares of household life, the fields of labor, the paths of effort. No, but an enduring, very real, very practical embodiment of the poet's ideal, with new powers and relations illustrating its harmony in and fitness for the world that is purified and sanctified by its presence. There to my eye 'Her shape arises: She less guarded than ever, yet more guarded than ever; The gross and soiled she moves among do not make her gross and soiled; She knows the thoughts as she passes--nothing is concealed from her; She is none the less considerate or friendly therefore; She is the best beloved--it is without exception--she has no reason to fear, and she does not fear; Oaths, quarrels, hiccupped songs, proposals, smutty expressions, are idle to her as she passes; She is silent--she is possessed of herself--they do not offend her; She receive them as the laws of nature receives them--she is strong; She, too, is a law of nature--there is no law stronger than she is.' I look beneath, the ethereal drapery of qualities in which the prophetic imagination has clothed her, and central to them all I find a new phenomenon--the latest of the ages--TRUE WOMANHOOD. From this proceeds the veiled glory hitherto seen but by poet's eye--not far hence to be felt and known of all. For it is no longer the vision of a distant and dim land, separated from this actual present by a fathomless abyss. Out of the yawning chasm that has divided that from this there rise to-day, clear, shining, visible to open eyes, the everlasting pillars of truth, which will shortly bridge it and make broad the road thither, so that neither he who walks straight with exact step between the pales of science, nor he outside wending, heedless, with wide-wandering eyes and feet who stumbles along, shall miss it.