this calm splendor, could
not but exhilarate the mind, and make it nobly free and
plastic.'

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 harmonized with
the spirit of religion. In their essence and their end these
are one, but rarely in actual existence. 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
clearness, that all should acknowledge and claim me as a
friend. But now I see that these impulses were prophetic 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 languor, but a gentler,
steadier energy.'

'The stateliest, strongest vessel must sometimes be brought
into port to rent. 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