THAT "movable feast," Thanksgiving Day, gave Isaac occasion for making this examination of conscience at five o'clock in the morning:

"When I cast my eyes back, it seems to me that I have made some progress—that I have grown somewhat better than I was. Thoughts, feelings, and passions which were active in my bosom, and which, in truth, were not to be well-spoken of, have given place, I hope, to a better state of mind.

"How am I now actualizing my spiritual life? It would be hard for me to answer at this moment. Am I less wilful? Do I sacrifice more than I did? Am I more loving? I am afraid that I am doing nothing more than I did; and therefore I took up this book to give an account of myself.

"Study occupies the best part of my time most generally. I recite lessons in Latin and in German every day, and now intend to study English grammar again. Then I read considerable, and write letters to my friends. All this, added to the hours I have to spend in business, leaves me not sufficient time to meditate; and there is no opportunity here for me to go into a retired, silent place, where I can be perfectly still, which is what has the most internal effect on me, and the best and most lasting. Two things I should and must do for my own soul's sake: speak less, and think less of my friends. To do this will give me a retired place and an opportunity for silence in the midst of all that is around me.

"I feel that I am not doing anything to ameliorate the social condition of those around me who are under my influence and partial control. Just now there seems a stand-still in this direction. The Spirit promises to teach us in all things: what more would it have me do in this way? What should be my next step? My mind has been partially drawn away from this by the present poor state of business, which keeps us cramped in our funds.

"I fear that to take less food than I now do would injure my health—else I should fast often.

"To-day let me put in practice the two above-mentioned duties: silence, and less thought upon my friends.

"And now, O God! If Thou helpest not I shall be worse than before. Heavenly Father, as the lower depends on the light and warmth of the sun for its grace and beauty, so, and much more, do I depend on Thee for life and progress. O Lord! from the depths of my heart I would implore Thee to aid me in all good intentions. My heart overflows with its fulness of gratitude for what Thou hast done for me, and I know Thou wilt not shorten Thy hand. Thy beauty, Thy loveliness, O God! is beyond our finite vision, far above our expression. Lord, all I can utter is, Help my weakness."

"December 2, 1843.—My heart, these two days back, has been filled with love. Oh, had I some one to whom I could unbosom myself! There is a something that affects my heart which is invisible, and to me strange."

Here he seems to intend the literal, physical heart, making it the scene, at the same time, of a spiritual emotion. On the same day he writes:

"I will not feed my body with impure food—is it not of infinitely more importance that I should not feed my spirit with deeds of impurity? By this I mean my gaining a living by making and selling articles which, in my judgment, are injurious, being luxurious and altogether unnecessary. Should I cease from doing that which is contrary to my spirit, what else should I do? O Lord, enlighten Thou my path!"

With what zeal he still persisted in the practice of bodily mortification this entry bears witness:

"December 6.—Day before yesterday I fasted and took a cold shower-bath. My diet is apples, potatoes, nuts, and unleavened bread. No water—scarcely a mouthful a week."

Then follow some thoughts on the solidarity of humanity, which retards individual progress by weighting each with the burdens of all others. He finds in this an explanation of the truth that our Lord took all the sins of men upon Himself and suffered for them on the cross. The blind ingratitude with which this sacrifice has been repaid cuts him with anguish, from which he rises into this cry of love and adoration:

"O Lord! my heart is choked from the utterance of its depth of thankfulness. O dear Christ! O sweet Christ! O loving Christ! oh, more than brother, friend! oh, more than any other being can be! O Son of God! oh, Thou who showest forth the pure love of God! oh, Thou inexpressible Love! draw me nearer Thee, let me feel more of Thy purity, Thy love! Oh, baptize me with Thy Spirit and loosen my tongue that I may speak of Thy love to men! Oh, it cannot be spoken of, nor can our hearts feel its greatness. God! what is Thy mercy that Thou sufferest us to live? Our ingratitude is too great to be uttered. Lord, I am silent, for who can speak in Thy presence? O Father! O Love! O Loving-kindness! My heart could fly away!"

On his birthday, December 18, 1843, having finished his twenty-third year, he puts down an account of conscience in the form of prayers and aspirations to God, breathing a deep sense of humility, expressing regret for his inactivity, his lack of gratitude for favors both spiritual and temporal, and adding a fervent appeal for more light and greater courage. In almost every entry of any length in the diary during this period he complains of his lack of solitude and of the means of obtaining it. His mind, after arriving home, was tossed with many interior distresses which he could not communicate to his brothers, nor even to his mother, with any hope of assuagement, but which silence and solitude enabled him to soothe by prayer. On the last day of the year he reverts to the great changes which 1843 had witnessed in his soul, and which, he says, were accompanied by bitter anguish. Twelve months before he had been with his "dear friend, 0, A. Brownson, filled with an unknown spirit, driven from home by it, and like one intoxicated, not knowing who I was or wherefore I was so troubled"—then to Brook Farm, and to Fruitlands, and back again in New York for the previous five or six months, the same spirit still in sovereign mastery over him, and, "though regulated, none the less powerful." He says that he is not so restless nor his mind so chaotic, but that he still has a pain at heart which he declares to be almost unbearable, joined to some nervous excitability.

Meantime, besides trying to employ himself actively in the business of the Hecker Brothers, he recited lessons daily in both German and Latin, and read much, chiefly on topics suggested by the difficulties with which his life was beset, such as philosophy, religious controversy, and the graver sorts of poetry, of which that of Goethe made a deep impression on him. The melancholy unrest and longing which such poetry embodies sunk into his very heart. Often it gave perfect expression to his own doubting and distressed state of soul. He also found some relaxation in an occasional visit to the theatre and heard nearly all the lectures given in the city. One of the dreams of his life, the amelioration of the social condition of the working people, he found himself unable to actualize in any appreciable degree. It is evident that his brothers shared his philanthropic views; but when it came to set practically to work there was a lack of harmony. John Hecker was for attaining the object by stricter discipline, treating the men rather as servants; while "we," says Isaac, speaking of himself and George, "took the side of treating them with kindness, and, as far as possible, as brethren." In truth, it was evidence of nobility of character in these three brothers that they could so much as dream of actualizing so radical a social reform in but one establishment amidst so many in ardent business competition with each other. It may be said in passing that the practical charity of the Hecker Brothers continued to do credit to the spirit which originally prompted their attempts at social reform. During a period of general distress some years since they distributed bread free, sending their own wagons around the city for the purpose.

No small part of Isaac's distress arose from what the diary calls the ugliness, vulgarity, and discord everywhere to be met with in his daily round of duties. He had one refuge from this in his domestic life—a pleasant, pure, and peaceful home; and another in the inner chamber of his soul, better fitted every day to be a sanctuary to which he could fly for solace. But his heart fairly bled for the vast mass of men and of women about him, only a few of whom had such an outer refuge, and perhaps fewer still the inner one. This sympathy he felt his life long. He ever blamed the huge accretion of law and customs and selfishness which is called society for much of this misery of men, this hindrance to a fair distribution of the goods of this world, this guilty permission on the part of the fortunate few of the want and dirt and ugliness and coarseness which are the lot of almost the whole race of man. Yet he was not blind to individual guilt. Right here in his diary, after lamenting his enforced inability to succor human misery, he says that some words dropped by the workmen in conversation with him cause him to record his conviction that suffering and injustice, together with the deprivation of liberty, are due to one's own fault as well as to that of others:

"Every evil that society inflicts upon me, the germ of it is my own fault; in proportion as I free myself from my vices will I free myself from the evils which society inflicts upon me. Be true to thyself and thou canst not be false to any one. Be true to thyself and it follows as night follows day that others cannot be false to thee."

Of course this panacea offers only an inward healing, for none more readily admitted than he who wrote these sentences that in externals the true heart is often the first victim of the malice of the false heart.

Ever and again we find in the diary reflections on the general aspect of religion. The Protestant churches seemed to him to fail to meet the aspirations of the natural man; that is the burden of his complaint against them all. Some, like the Unitarians, did but offer man his best self and hence added nothing to humanity, while humanity at its best ceaselessly condemned itself as insufficient. This insufficiency of man for himself, Calvinistic and Lutheran Protestantism in their turn condemned as a depravity worthy of the deepest hell, making man a wretch maimed in his very nature so cruelly and fatally as to be damned for what he could not help being guilty of. Meantime the Catholic Church was seen by Isaac Hecker as having elements the most attractive. It recognized in man his native dignity; it saw in him a being made God-like by the attribute of reason, and called him to a state infinitely more God-like by a supernatural union with Christ. It understood his weakness, pitied it, and knew how to cure it. True, there are passages here in which his impatience with the public attitude of the Church betrays that his view of it was yet a distant one; they show, also, an undue concentration of his gaze upon social evils. "The Church is a great almoner," he says, "but what is she doing to ameliorate and improve the circumstances of the poorer and more numerous classes? She is more passive than active." "Instead of the Church being in the head and front of advancement, suffering martyrdom for Christ, she is in a conservative relation with society." Yet he adds: "We speak of the Church as she is exhibited by her bishops and clergy, and only in this sense."

Isaac Hecker's renewed experiment of engaging in business and following at the same time the lead of the peremptory Spirit within him soon proved a failure. He complains, though not as bitterly as the year before when he felt the first agony of this suffering, that the greater part of his true life is lost in his present position—the thoughts, feelings, studies which are of supreme value to him, getting entrance into his mind almost by stealth, while, at the same time, he is not of much use in the business and of little benefit to others in any way. On March 10 he wrote to Brownson that he was going to give up business totally and finally, and asked his Advice about a course of study "for the field of the Church," not having yet fully settled as to whether it should be "the Roman or the Anglican." Upon his determination to withdraw from the secular affairs of life he experienced "such peace, calmness, and deep, settled strength and confidence" as never before. "I feel the presence of God," he writes, "wherever I am. I would kneel and praise God in all places. In His presence I walk and feel His breath encompass me. My soul is borne up by His presence and my heart is filled by His influence. How thankful ought we to be! How humble and submissive! Let us lay our heads on the pillow of peace and die peacefully in the embrace of God."

Brownson answered his letter with one of encouragement to carry out his purpose. Yet, there was a pang; Isaac laments "the domestic comforts, the little offices of tender love" which he should lose by going from home. And well he might, for tender love may well describe the bond uniting the dear old mother and her three noble sons. The present writer had no personal acquaintance with John Hecker, but we never heard his name mentioned by Father Hecker except with much affection. George always seemed to us something like a perfect man. He especially it was who all his life gave his entire unselfish love to his brother Isaac. The reader has noticed, we hope, that there has been no mention so far in the diary of difficulty in obtaining money for the expenses of his various journeyings and for his support when absent from home. The two brothers in New York appear to have held these pilgrimages in search of the truth in such reverence as to make Isaac their partner, only in a higher sense than ever before. And George Hecker, especially, seemed throughout his life to continue Isaac a member of his great and rich firm, lavishing upon his least wish large sums of money, and these not only for his strictly personal expenditure, but for any cause whatever he might have at heart.

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