He is vindicated. But then the next question is, Which is Christ, Jesus or Judas? Who is Savior, and who savee. Is salvation life-giving or death-giving? Who brings good out of evil, and who evil out of good? He is my other-wheel. Won't you pair us together and rebuild the machine?

Yours, singly,

A WHEEL

(of a thinkingmachine).

NOVEMBER 4, 1881.

Dear Sir:-Copies of two letters of Guiteau to his father in 1865 and 1867 have to-day been furnished me by the newspapsrs.

He says they wanted to make a hard-working business man of him, but he would not consent to have his genius wasted on that.

He wanted to found a great theocratic paper, if not himself edit it.

His ignorance prevented him seeing that it was already in existence; or else he was too selfish to let Horace Greeley have it. Every pole has its antipode. Every Cæsar has his Brutus. Every Jesus has his Judas. Every Garfield has his Guiteau. To every genuine Charles Dickens there is a Pickwick Micawber counterfeit.

Yours, diametrically,

A WHEEL

(of a thinkingmachine).

If I by bounteous Nature had been made
A Poet-if indeed within my heart
The sacred gift of song had been so laid,
E'en of my very life to be a part;

If I had power to breathe into dead words

Sweet melody, and frame a stirring song,
Whose merry notes seem borrowed from the birds,
Whose sadder ones were learned from sorrow long-

It were for thee, Belov'd, that I would sing,
For thee, that I would in the gift rejoice;
For thee alone I'd touch the magic string —
For thee I'd prize the sweetness in my voice.

Alas! I am no Poet- unto me

Only the longing has been fully given,

Without the power to reach the melody
For which I have so often vainly striven.

But thou, my own Belov'd, by thy dear love
Wilt find such beauty in my humble strain,
That thou wilt prize its music e'en above

All others - and I sing not all in vain.

And thou, Dear One, because I know full well
How dearly thou wilt hold my offering,
To thee, like wild-flowers from the wood and dell,
Those modest flowerets of my song I bring.

Wild-flowers indeed they seem, before the gaze
Of rude observers ill at ease and shy-

Yet, knowing well the truth of Love's warm praise,
Their beauty they unfold to Love's kind eye.

I. THE RETURN TO POETRY.

The notes of Poesy have slept
Unwaked within my soul so long,

I fear I've lost the magic touch

That swelled them into sweetest song.

But I have heard that when the heart
The ecstasy of love doth know,
The fount of song is oft unsealed,
Its crystal waters made to flow.

And all the joy and all the pain

That love within the soul hath stirred,
Doth gush in one wild stream of song

Forth from its depths—so have I heard.

Then

may hope that in my heart
The crystal fount will flow again.

For I have learned to love - have learned
That sweetest ecstasy to feel,

And I have found that bliss supreme
Which love alone can e'er reveal.

Then wake, my heart! pour forth in song,
As thou wert wont, thy joy and pain;
Thy music will be sweeter far,

Since thou hast learned Love's holy strain!

MAY 10, 1863.

II. TO MARY.

No laurel bright, as once I dreamed
Shall rest upon my brow,

For not to Fame's loud trumpet-note
I listen proudly now.

My ear hath caught a gentler tone
Whose sweeter music thrills

My soul with new and strange delight
And all my being fills.

No laurel, then, my gentle friend,
No laurel bring to me ;
A sweeter token, dearer far

I come to ask of thee.

And when the bridal hour hath come

I ask, dear one, that thou

With thine own hand shalt bring the wreath
And place it on my brow.

For, hallowed by thy gentle touch,

I deem that it will shed

From every pure and shining leaf
A blessing on my head.

MAY 13, 1863.

III.

My happiness is all with thee;
Thou, dearest one, dost give to me

A joy before unknown;

No more in darkness now I grasp
For shadows vain, but firmly clasp
A treasure all my own.

Thou giv'st me Love! - how oft, O God,
While Learning's ways I proudly trod,
A still, small voice would rise -
A voice scarce heard, so low and faint,
Yet burdened with a sad complaint
That struggled for the skies.