With it, he was free from these carking cares that were making his mind foul and muddy.

If he had money! Slow, cool visions of triumphs rose before him outlined on the years to come, practical, if Utopian.

Slow and sure successes of science and art, where his brain could work, helpful and growing.

Far off, yet surely to come,--surely for him,--a day when a pure social system should be universal, should have thrust out its fibres of light, knitting into one the nations of the earth, when the lowest slave should find its true place and rightful work, and stand up, knowing itself divine.

"To insure to every man the freest development of his faculties:" he said over the hackneyed dogma again and again, while the heavy, hateful years of poverty rose before him that had trampled him down.