ast time before going home. I could not have believed that I should
feel such a pang at parting from a picture. I did not succeed in getting
to the gallery before others--but, no matter. I forgot the presence of
everybody else and sat for an hour before Rosalie without moving. I took
leave of the other pictures mentally, for I could not look. Farewell,
sweet Beatrice, lovely Inez, beautiful Ursulina--dear, dear Rosalie,
farewell!

_Monday, 15th._--Yesterday I was happy; to-day I am not exactly unhappy,
but morbid and anxious. I feel continually the pressure of obligation
to write something, in order to contribute toward the support of the
family--and yet, I can not write. Mother wants me to write children's
books; Lizzy wants me to write a book of Natural Philosophy for schools.
I wish I had a "vocation." _Sabbath._--Stayed at home on account of
the rain and read one of Tholuck's sermons to Julia. Wrote in my other
journal some account of my thoughts and feelings. Burned up part of an
old diary.

_Thursday, July 25th._--"My soul is dark." What with the sin I find
within me, and the darkness and error, disputes and perplexities around
me, I well-nigh despair. Whether I seek to _discover_ truth or to _live_
it, I am _equally_ unsuccessful. "I grope at noon-day as in the night."
But there is a God, holy and changeless. He _is_. From eternity to
eternity, He IS. On this Rock will I rest----. I stopped a moment and my
eye was caught by the waving trees. What do they say to me? How silent
they are! and yet how _eloquent!_ And here I sit--to myself the centre
of the world, wondering and speculating about this same little self. Do
the trees so? No; they wave and bend and bloom for _others._ I am ready
to join with Herbert in wishing that I were a tree; then

"At least some bird would trust
Her household to me, and I should be just."

_Evening._--I read to-day another of Lessing's tragedies--"Miss Sarah
Sampson,"--which I do not like nearly as well as Mina von Barnhelm. We
were engaged to take tea with "the Mayor," and went with many tremblings
and hesitations on account of the rain. Very few there, and a most
uncommonly stupid time.

_Saturday Evening._--I have been alone for a little while, and, as
usual, this time brings with it thronging remembrances of absent
friends. Their forms flit before me; their spirits are around me; I feel
their presence--almost; dear friends, almost I clasp you in my arms. My
soul y