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spring, we again begin to thaw. What a delightful sensa-
tion it is to thaw under silent tears of love, under happi-
ness, or gentle sorrow. It is like the sweetest music.
Why do we, in all descriptive sketches of heaven and of
the realms of bliss, always find something resembling
music? Because music only can interpret the unspeak-
ably deep and sweet in human feeling, the melting har-
mony, the transition of the soul, or rather its glorifica-
tion, in an element of the purest love and_beatitude.
Surely you and your husband will one day sing the song
of the blessed together in harmony’s perfect world.
_ When I was last with you, you did not then sing in con-
cert together ; each of you had your own part; but they
were somenbat discordant i in a question respecting anger,
and whether this feeling was blamable and ignoble or not.
I remember that we have sometimes spoken on this sub-
ject; and I will now make a fair copy, of which I then
made a rough one.
. I believe “that anger, like any other affection or impulse
of the soul, has its Saath and its good. It is the violent
protest of the sense of right and reties against what is
wrong and unworthy. Such is anger in its’ purity —in
God. - In its impurity it is a violent outbreak of the mind
against every thing which wounds its opinions and will, be
this what it may. And when you, my dearest Frances,
said, “I do not think that I am sinning when I get angry,”
I side with you, provided your anger is just, -— that is to
say, directed against what is wicked and bad. But when
your husband says: “We never act so prudently when we
are angry, as when we are calm and collected; we are
generally carried away from what is reasonable, and let, in
our passion, the guiltless suffer with the guilty;” then I
place myself beside him, humbly giving him right; and
thereupon I place myself between you two, and wish to
decide the question thus : —
There is a noble and an ignoble anger. There are
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