my young life is so singularly barren of illusions.  I know, I feel the time must come when this proud and impatient heart shall be stilled, and turn from the ardors of Search and Action, to lean on something above.  But—­shall I say it?—­the thought of that calmer era is to me a thought of deepest sadness; so remote from my present being is that future existence, which still the mind may conceive.  I believe in Eternal Progression.  I believe in a God, a Beauty and Perfection to which I am to strive all my life for assimilation.  From these two articles of belief, I draw the rules by which I strive to regulate my life.  But, though I reverence all religions as necessary to the happiness of man, I am yet ignorant of the religion of Revelation.  Tangible promises! well defined hopes! are things of which I do not now feel the need.  At present, my soul is intent on this life, and I think of religion as its rule; and, in my opinion, this is the natural and proper course from youth to age.  What I have written is not hastily concocted, it has a meaning.  I have given you, in this little space, the substance of many thoughts, the clues to many cherished opinions.  ’Tis a subject on which I rarely speak.  I never said so much but once before.  I have here given you all I know, or think, on the most important of subjects—­could you but read understandingly!’

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I find, in her journals for 1833, the following passages, expressing the religious purity of her aspirations at that time:—­

’Blessed Father, nip every foolish wish in blossom.  Lead me any way to truth and goodness; but if it might be, I would not pass from idol to idol.  Let no mean sculpture deform a mind disorderly, perhaps ill-furnished, but spacious and life-warm.  Remember thy child, such as thou madest her, and let her understand her little troubles, when possible, oh, beautiful Deity!’

* * * * *

’Sunday morning.—­Mr.—­preached on the nature of our duties, social and personal.  The sweet dew of truth penetrated my heart like balm.  He pointed out the various means of improvement, whereby the humblest of us may be beneficent at last.  How just, how nobly true,—­how modestly, yet firmly uttered,—­his opinions of man,—­of time,—­of God!

’My heart swelled with prayer.  I began to feel hope that time and toil might strengthen me to despise the “vulgar parts of felicity,” and live as becomes an immortal creature.  I am sure, quite sure, that I am getting into the right road.  Oh, lead me, my Father! root out false pride and selfishness from my heart; inspire me with virtuous energy, and enable me to improve every talent for the eternal good of myself and others.’

A friend of Margaret, some years older than herself, gives me the following narrative:—­