'the generous affections towards all men, and invigorate 'one to deserve what the gods have given.'

Margaret's charities and courtesies were not limited to her kindred. She fell, at once, into agreeable relations with her domestics, became their confidant, teacher, and helper, studied their characters, consulted their convenience, warned them of their dangers or weaknesses, and rejoiced to gratify their worthy tastes; and, in return, no lady could receive, from servants, more punctual or hearty attendance. She knew how to command and how to persuade, and her sympathy was perfect. They felt the power of her mind, her hardy directness, prompt judgment, decision and fertility of resource, and liked to aid one who knew so well her own wants. ' Around 'my path,' she writes, 'how much humble love contin'ually flows. These every-day and lowly friends never 'forget my wishes, never censure my whims, make no 'demands on me, and load me with gifts and uncom'plaining service. Though sometimes forgetful of their 'claims, I try to make it up when we do meet, and I 'trust give little pain as I pass along this world.'

Even in extreme cases of debasement she found more to admire than to contemn, and won the confidence of the fallen by manifesting her real respect. "There was in my family," writes a friend, "a very handsome young girl, who had been vicious in her habits, and so enamored of one of her lovers, that when he deserted her, she attempted to drown herself. She was rescued, and some good people were eager to reform her life. While she was engaged in housework for us, Margaret saw her, and one day asked if she could not help her. replied: No! for should I begin to

talk with her, I should show my consciousness of her history so much as to be painful.' Margaret was very indignant at this weakness. Said she, 'This girl is 'taken away, you know, from all her objects of interest, and must feel her life vacant and dreary. Her mind 'should be employed; she should be made to feel her 'powers.' It was plain that if Margaret had been near her, she would have devoted herself at once to her education and reëstablishment."

About the time of breaking up their home, Margaret thus expressed, to one of her brothers, her hopes and plans. 'You wish, dear that I was not obliged to

'toil and spin, but could live, for a while, like the lilies. 'I wish so, too, for life has fatigued me, my strength is 'little, and the present state of my mind demands repose ' and refreshment, that it may ripen some fruit worthy 'of the long and deep experiences through which I 'have passed. I do not regret that I have shared the 'labors and cares of the suffering million, and have ' acquired a feeling sense of the conditions under which 'the Divine has appointed the development of the human. 'Yet, if our family affairs could now be so arranged, 'that I might be tolerably tranquil for the next six or eight years, I should go out of life better satisfied with ( the page I have turned in it, than I shall if I must 'still toil on. A noble career is yet before me, if I can 'be unimpeded by cares. I have given almost all my young energies to personal relations; but, at present, I 'feel inclined to impel the general stream of thought. 'Let my nearest friends also wish that I should now 'take share in more public life.'

THE HIGHLANDS.

Seeking thus, at once, expansion and rest in new einployments, Margaret determined, in the autumn of 1844, to accept a liberal offer of Messrs. Greeley and McElrath, to become a constant contributor to the New York Tribune. But before entering upon her new duties, she found relaxation, for a few weeks, amid the grand scenery of the Hudson. In October, she writes from Fishkill Landing:-'Can I find words to tell you how I 'enjoy being here, encircled by the majestic beauty of 'these mountains? I felt regret, indeed, in bidding fare'well to Boston, so many marks of affection were shown 'me at the last, and so many friendships, true if imperfect, were left behind. But now I am glad to feel ' enfranchized in the society of Nature. I have a well' ordered, quiet house to dwell in, with nobody's humors 'to consult but my own. From my windows I see over 'the tops of variegated trees the river, with its purple 'heights beyond, and a few moments' walk brings me to the lovely shore, where sails are gliding continually by, and the huge steamers sweep past with echoing tread, ( and a train of waves, whose rush relieves the monotone ' of the ripples. In the country behind us are mountain'paths, and lonely glens, with gurgling streams, and 'many-voiced water-falls. And over all are spread the gorgeous hues of autumn.'

6

And again: ""From the brain of the purple moun""tain" flows forth cheer to my somewhat weary mind. 'I feel refreshed amid these bolder shapes of nature. 'Mere gentle and winning landscapes are not enough. 'How I wish my birth had been cast among the sources ' of the streams, where the voice of hidden torrents is

'heard by night, and the eagle soars, and the thun'der resounds in prolonged peals, and wide blue shad'ows fall like brooding wings across the valleys! Amid 'such scenes, I expand and feel at home. All the fine 'days I spend among the mountain passes, along the 'mountain brooks, or beside the stately river. I enjoy 'just the tranquil happiness I need in communion with 'this fair grandeur.'

And, again: 'The boldness, sweetness, and variety 'here, are just what I like. I could pass the autumn in watching the exquisite changes of light and shade on the heights across the river. How idle to pretend 'that one could live and write as well amid fallow flat 'fields! This majesty, this calm splendor, could not but exhilarate the mind, and make it nobly free and plas'tic.'

These few weeks among the Highlands,-spent mostly in the open air, under October's golden sunshine, the slumberous softness of the Indian summer, or the brilliant, breezy skies of November, were an important era for Margaret. She had

"lost the dream of Doing

And the other dream of Done;
The first spring in the pursuing,

The first pride in the Begun,

First recoil from incompleteness in the face of what is won."

But she was striving, also, to use her own words, 'to 'be patient to the very depths of the heart, to expect no 'hasty realizations, not to make her own plan her law 'of life, but to learn the law and plan of God.' She

adds, however: 'What heaven it must be to have the 'happy sense of accomplishing something, and to feel the glow of action without exhausted weariness! Surely the race would have worn itself out by corrosion, if 'men in all ages had suffered, as we now do, from the 'consciousness of an unattained Ideal.'

Extracts from journals will best reveal her state of mind.

I have a dim consciousness of what the terrible experiences must be by which the free poetic element is har'monized with the spirit of religion. In their essence ' and their end these are one, but rarely in actual exis'tence. I would keep what was pure and noble in my 'old native freedom, with that consciousness of falling 'below the best convictions which now binds me to the 'basest of mankind, and find some new truth that shall 'reconcile and unite them. Once it seemed to me, that my heart was so capable of goodness, my mind of clear'ness, that all should acknowledge and claim me as a 'friend. But now I see that these impulses were pro'phetic of a yet distant period. The "intensity" of 'passion, which so often unfits me for life, or, rather, for 'life here, is to be moderated, not into dulness or lan'guor, but a gentler, steadier energy.'

'The stateliest, strongest vessel must sometimes be 'brought into port to refit. If she will not submit to 'be fastened to the dock, stripped of her rigging, and 'scrutinized by unwashed artificers, she may spring a leak when riding most proudly on the subject wave. 'Norway fir nor English oak can resist forever the 'insidious assaults of the seemingly conquered ocean.