Volume I Part 13 (1/2)

'It has been a gloomy week, indeed. The children have all been ill, and dearest mother is overpowered with sorrow, fatigue, and anxiety. I suppose she must be ill too, when the children recover. I shall endeavor to keep my mind steady, by remembering that there is a G.o.d, and that grief is but for a season. Grant, oh Father, that neither the joys nor sorrows of this past year shall have visited my heart in vain! Make me wise and strong for the performance of immediate duties, and ripen me, by what means Thou seest best, for those which lie beyond.

'My father's image follows me constantly. Whenever I am in my room, he seems to open the door, and to look on me with a complacent, tender smile. What would I not give to have it in my power, to make that heart once more beat with joy! The saddest feeling is the remembrance of little things, in which I have fallen short of love and duty. I never sympathized in his liking for this farm, and secretly wondered how a mind which had, for thirty years, been so widely engaged in the affairs of men, could care so much for trees and crops.

But now, amidst the beautiful autumn days, I walk over the grounds, and look with painful emotions at every little improvement. He had selected a spot to place a seat where I might go to read alone, and had asked me to visit it. I contented myself with ”When you please, father;” but we never went! What would I not now give, if I had fixed a time, and shown more interest! A day or two since, I went there. The tops of the distant blue hills were veiled in delicate autumn haze; soft silence brooded over the landscape; on one side, a brook gave to the gently sloping meadow spring-like verdure; on the other, a grove,--which he had named for me,--lay softly glowing in the gorgeous hues of October. It was very sad.

May this sorrow give me a higher sense of duty in the relations.h.i.+ps which remain.

'Dearest mother is worn to a shadow. Sometimes, when I look on her pale face, and think of all her grief, and the cares and anxieties which now beset her, I am appalled by the thought that she may not continue with us long. Nothing sustains me now but the thought that G.o.d, who saw fit to restore me to life when I was so very willing to leave it,--more so, perhaps than I shall ever be again,--must have some good work for me to do.'

'_Nov. 3, 1835_.--I thought I should be able to write ere now, how our affairs were settled, but that time has not come yet. My father left no will, and, in consequence, our path is hedged in by many petty difficulties. He has left less property than we had antic.i.p.ated, for he was not fortunate in his investments in real estate. There will, however, be enough to maintain my mother, and educate the children decently. I have often had reason to regret being of the softer s.e.x, and never more than now. If I were an eldest son, I could be guardian to my brothers and sister, administer the estate, and really become the head of my family. As it is, I am very ignorant of the management and value of property, and of practical details. I always hated the din of such affairs, and hoped to find a life-long refuge from them in the serene world of literature and the arts. But I am now full of desire to learn them, that I may be able to advise and act, where it is necessary. The same mind which has made other attainments, can, in time, compa.s.s these, however uncongenial to its nature and habits.'

'I shall be obliged to give up selfishness in the end. May G.o.d enable me to see the way clear, and not to let down the intellectual, in raising the moral tone of my mind.

Difficulties and duties became distinct the very night after my father's death, and a solemn prayer was offered then, that I might combine what is due to others with what is due to myself. The spirit of that prayer I shall constantly endeavor to maintain. What ought to be done for a few months to come is plain, and, as I proceed, the view will open.'

TRIAL.

The death of her father brought in its train a disappointment as keen as Margaret could well have been called on to bear. For two years and more she had been buoyed up to intense effort by the promise of a visit to Europe, for the end of completing her culture. And as the means of equitably remunerating her parents for the cost of such a tour, she had faithfully devoted herself to the teaching of the younger members of the family. Her honored friends, Professor and Mrs.

Farrar, who were about visiting the Old World, had invited her to be their companion; and, as Miss Martineau was to return to England in the s.h.i.+p with them, the prospect before her was as brilliant with generous hopes as her aspiring imagination could conceive. But now, in her journal of January 1, 1836, she writes:--

'The New-year opens upon me under circ.u.mstances inexpressibly sad. I must make the last great sacrifice, and, apparently, for evil to me and mine. Life, as I look forward, presents a scene of struggle and privation only. Yet ”I bate not a jot of heart,” though much ”of hope.” My difficulties are not to be compared with those over which many strong souls have triumphed. Shall I then despair? If I do, I am not a strong soul.'

Margaret's family treated her, in this exigency, with the grateful consideration due to her love, and urgently besought her to take the necessary means, and fulfil her father's plan. But she could not make up her mind to forsake them, preferring rather to abandon her long-cherished literary designs. Her struggles and her triumph thus appear in her letters:--

'_January 30, 1836_.--I was a great deal with Miss Martineau, while in Cambridge, and love her more than ever. She is to stay till August, and go to England with Mr. and Mrs. Farrar.

If I should accompany them I shall be with her while in London, and see the best literary society. If I should go, you will be with mother the while, will not you?[A] Oh, dear E----, you know not how I fear and tremble to come to a decision. My temporal all seems hanging upon it, and the prospect is most alluring. A few thousand dollars would make all so easy, so safe. As it is, I cannot tell what is coming to us, for the estate will not be settled when I go. I pray to G.o.d ceaselessly that I may decide wisely.'

'_April 17th, 1836_.--If I am not to go with you I shall be obliged to tear my heart, by a violent effort, from its present objects and natural desires. But I shall feel the necessity, and will do it if the life-blood follows through the rent. Probably, I shall not even think it best to correspond with you at all while you are in Europe. Meanwhile, let us be friends indeed. The generous and unfailing love which you have shown me during these three years, when I could be so little to you, your indulgence for my errors and fluctuations, your steady faith in my intentions, have done more to s.h.i.+eld and sustain me than any other earthly influence. If I must now learn to dispense with feeling them constantly near me, at least their remembrance can never, never be less dear. I suppose I ought, instead of grieving that we are soon to be separated, now to feel grateful for an intimacy of extraordinary permanence, and certainly of unstained truth and perfect freedom on both sides.

'As to my feelings, I take no pleasure in speaking of them; but I know not that I could give you a truer impression of them, than by these lines which I translate from the German of Uhland. They are ent.i.tled ”JUSTIFICATION.”

”Our youthful fancies, idly fired, The fairest visions would embrace; These, with impetuous tears desired, Float upward into starry s.p.a.ce; Heaven, upon the suppliant wild, Smiles down a gracious _No_!--In vain The strife! Yet be consoled, poor child, For the wish pa.s.ses with the pain.

But when from such idolatry The heart has turned, and wiser grown, In earnestness and purity Would make a n.o.bler plan its own,-- Yet, after all its zeal and care, Must of its chosen aim despair,-- Some bitter tears may be forgiven By _Man_, at least,--_we trust, by Heaven_.”'

[Footnote A: Her eldest brother.]

BIRTH-DAY.

'_May 23d, 1836_.--I have just been reading Goethe's Lebensregel. It is easy to say ”Do not trouble yourself with useless regrets for the past; enjoy the present, and leave the future to G.o.d.” But it is _not_ easy for characters, which are by nature neither _calm_ nor _careless_, to act upon these rules. I am rather of the opinion of Novalis, that ”Wer sich der hochsten Lieb ergeben Genest von ihnen Wunden nie.”