I received your kind letter last night—by the post mark it was a week and a half old.

I do not feel like answering much to your remarks on the condition of my heart and mind. The fact that I do not, is perhaps indicative of an improvement since I wrote you last—and I thank God heartily that I believe there has been some. Although the same mental difficulty would arise—or is yet obvious-I do not feel inclined so much to look at—and be querulous. Perhaps in short, it is nothing more in Bible language than a brighter Faith.

[322]

Though I should like to have your view a little more distinctly expressed (Is it not rather indistinct to yourself?), I believe I understand it pretty well. I think if I had been in your place I should have tried to say about the same thing. But I wonder if you would not hesitate to follow it out, and use it as a foundation of further opinions. I would not, I think. It is a very important point—to all Christians, to all just men. I should think it might be particularly interesting to [those] interested in Criminal Law. I never saw a cool opinion about Moral Insanity. Most men think it necessary to be violently enraged when it is mentioned to show that they are safe. I always proclaim myself a “dangerous man.” I know that I am. I know that there is danger in my opinions-danger to the “basis of society” and all that. But sweeping fires—whirlwinds &c sometimes make way for good. I am not afraid of Revolutions though I may dread them. (This flight is not based you understand simply on “Moral Insanity” but on the general tendency of my opinions—or my Faith.)

Of Moral Insanity (you will see what I call so) I can have no doubt. Set up a Moral point—an ultimate, on which Morality shall be to a certain extent founded. To the mind’s eye of Charley Brace it is—White. To Henry Brace it is Red, to me they are both absurd, and I know—and see as plain as I see this ink—and it is Black—stark, staring Black—and the man must be mad who can doubt it. Charley says sometimes I seem to see or think I see something the rest do not, & hang me if I don’t—not what they do not—nor what they can not—but as it seems to me, what they will not. They refuse to, or else they lie, or are crazy.

I know how apt a man is to deceive himself, and to hug his opinions that he has taken up almost accidentally. But about these things I feel very sure that I am honest. They are not matters of Conscience, but of Reason—and sink or swim I hold them, and if they burn, I must burn with them. I know this much, that in prospect of death I can not throw them overboard. My own Reason must pilot, and if she runs down the Bible, my own heart & my own friends, I can not take the helm from her.

As to “Theories & Creeds,” there I should like to fight you. I know that if I could, get at half the ammunition I have stowed away somewhere, and aim it with any sort of distinctness I could stand you a pretty good game. But I am all fogged up with a horrid cold in the head this p.m., and if I think any more I shall be having a fit.

I will write you again in a few days perhaps. Meantime I wish you would think a little about this “morbid action of the mind,” &c. & write me.

That is as long a sentence as I can write without my head’s throbbing.

It is a good subject for a Christian to think about too. Do what you will with the facts the consideration must provoke charity.

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Your view of Farming and Pears was very common sensible, but I could tell you some circumstances that you did not consider—that are necessary to a correct idea of my position.

We did have a pleasant time with Emma Brace. She had the worst of the worst gale of this year, but got safe through it; that’s all we know. I think you said something about her that was not precisely honest. I’ll see when I come up.

My regards to Dudley—and with congratulations to Mrs. Russ and—no the baby is too green yet. I’ll spare you.

I called on Ellen Day, thank you.

I’ll say only just enough more to fill out the page.