Volume I Part 6 (1/2)

'You ought not to think I shoant of generous confidence, if I soround on which I tread, to see if perchance it may return the echoes of hollowness'

'Do not cease to respect me as for of the ways” in ain only serves to show es of each None of those who think themselves my friends can aid me; each, careless, takes the path to which present convenience impels; and all would s and measureless wishes, the sad apprehensiveness, which aze to the distance What wonder if my present conduct should be mottled by selfishness and incertitude?

Perhaps you, who _can_ h you showed ht a penetration which did not flow froht of hope and ambitious confidence, which has vitalized uished forever, I will not in life act a ht thing lessen your respect for ed to dilad of this assurance I hope you will not think this note in the style of a French novel'

[Footnote A: According to Dryden's beautiful stateh turrets, in their airy sweep Require foundations, in proportion deep And lofty cedars as far upward shoot As to the nether heavens they drive the root; So low did her secure foundation lie, She was not humble, but humility']

POWER OF CIRcumSTANCES

'Do you reht evening, last summer, about the incalculable pohich outward circumstances have over the character? You would not syrets I expressed, that mine had not been forer passions and dignified events, instead of those secret trials and petty conflicts which make my transition state so hateful to my mened with such anguish,--the faith which a Schiller could never attain,--a faith in the power of the human will Yet now, in every letter, you talk to ed you are Every one of your letters is different fro, and all so altered froround, and do you not apologize to ize? I think I know you very, very well; considering that we are both huhts ords Nay, further--I do not believe you will be able to beco which I cannot understand I know I can sympathize with all who feel and think, from a Dryfesdale up to a Max Piccolomini You say, you have becoh-pressure, wave-co plenty of fuel You ine, and move so the broad waters of the nineteenth century None of your pendulum machines for me! I should, to be sure, turn away my head if I should hear you tick, and ood large life-endangerer would be er of your requiring to be set down quite on a level, kept in a still place, and wound up every eight days Oh no, no! you are not one of that numerous company, who

--”live and die, Eat, drink, wake, sleep between, Walk, talk like clock-work too, So pass in order due, Over the scene, To where the past--_is_ past, The future--nothing yet,” &c &c

But we ine;--shall be a es,--and I will be a spinning jenny No!

upon second thoughts, I will not be a ar hands,--for instance, a chisel to polish marble, or a whetstone to sharpen steel!'

In an unfinished tale, Margaret has given the following studies of character She is describing two of the friends of the hero of her story Unquestionably the traits here given were taken fronize the portrait of any individual in either sketch Yet we insert it here to show her own idea of this relation, and her fine feeling of the action and reaction of these subtle intiht, at least One, who had great effect on my mind, I may call Lytton He was as prehts, analyzing ht to have been playing cricket, or hunting in the woods The young Arab, or Indian, may dispense with mere play, and enter betimes into the histories and practices of manhood, for all these are, in their modes of life, closely connected with simple nature, and educate the body no less than thelazily under a tree, while ue and adventure, and visiting with him the impure atmosphere of courtiers, picaroons, and actresses

This was Lytton's favorite reading; his , would in any case have found its food in the now hidden workings of character and passion, the by-play of life, the unexpected and seeruous relations to be found there He loved the natural history of ht, he found, but paid the heaviest price All his later days were poisoned by his subtlety, which le and satisfied eye He tore the buds open to see if there were no worm sheathed in the blushful heart, and was so afraid of overlooking so like aits living language above, he had not faith enough to believe in the flower, neither faith enough to em, and remains at penance in the limbo of halfnesses, I trust not forever

Then all his characteristics wore brilliant hues He was very witty, and I owe to hi the first and only person who has excited ayety The sparks of his ere frequent, slight surprises; his was a slender dart, and rebounded easily to the hand I like the scintillating, arroit far better than broad, genial huht metallic touch pleases me

When wit appears as fun and jollity, she wears a little of the Silenus air;--the Mercurial is what I like

'In later days,--for my intimacy with him lasted hted to ransack the history of a nation, of an art or a science, and bring tothem fixed them in his own memory, which was the most tenacious and ready I have ever known; he enjoyed my clear perception as to their relative value, and I classified thereat h rapid in its s of its own accord, I traversed on the wings of his effort large demesnes that would otherwise have remained quite unknown to me They were not, indeed, seen to the sae I knew, and whose fruits were the answer to eness to norant how ht the many sides to every question, while, by the law of affinity, I chose my own

'Lytton was not loved by any one He was not positively hated, or disliked; for there was nothing which the general s Cold, intangible, he was to play across the life of others A momentary resentle with theirs; his scrutiny, though not hostile, was recognized as unfeeling and impertinent, and his mirth unsettled all objects frootten Hearts went not forth to war against or to seek one as a mere experimentalist and observer in existence For myself, I did not love, perhaps, but was attached to hirew steadily, for it was founded, not on what I wanted of him, but on his truth to himself His existence was a real one; he was not without a pathetic feeling of his wants, but was never te the properties of any other character He accepted the law of his being, and never violated it This is next best to the nobleness which transcends it I did not disapprove, even when I disliked, his acts

'A, as Lytton was brilliant, versatile, and cold His terave, even to apparent dulness; his eye gave little light, but a slow fire burned in its depths His was a character not to be revealed to himself, or others, except by the ih every day, no doubt, deepened and enriched hiht little that he could show or recall But when his soul, capable of religion, capable of love, was moved, all his senses were united in the word or action that followed, and the impression made on you was entire I have scarcely known any capable of such true manliness as he His poetry, written, or unwritten, was the experience of life It lies in few lines, as yet, but not one of them will ever need to be effaced

'Early that serious eye inspired in netisination; no bright ideal suggested by him stood between the friend and his self As the years matured that self, I loved him more, and knew him as he knew himself, always in the present moment; he could never occupy my mind in absence'

Another of her early friends, Rev FH Hedge, has sketched his acquaintance with her in the following paper, coaret, and having enjoyed an education at a German university, his conversation was full of interest and excitehts and speculations which gave enial direction

”My acquaintance with Margaret coe, my native place and hers I was then a e, in which my father held one of the offices of instruction, and I used frequently to meet her in the social circles of which the fae formed the nucleus Her father, at this tiress of the United States

”Margaret was then about thirteen,--a child in years, but so precocious in her hteen or twenty Agreeably to this estirown

”When I recall her personal appearance, as it was then and for ten or twelve years subsequent to this, I have the idea of a blooorous health, with a tendency to robustness, of which she was painfully conscious, and which, with little regard to hygienic principles, she endeavored to suppress or conceal, thereby preparing for herselfWith no pretensions to beauty then, or at any time, her face was one that attracted, that awakened a lively interest, that made one desirous of a nearer acquaintance It was a face that fascinated, without satisfying Never seen in repose, never allowing a steady perusal of its features, it baffled every attenohty force, but what direction that force would assume,--whether it would determine itself to social triumphs, or to triumphs of art,--it was impossible to divine Hercharacter, did not appear in the lines of her face She seeht not choose to put forth her strength You felt that a great possibility lay behind that brow, but you felt, also, that the talent that was in her h indifference or caprice