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 relationships 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 God, 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 anticipated, 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 sex, 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, compass these, however uncongenial to its nature and habits.’

* * * * *

’I shall be obliged to give up selfishness in the end.  May God 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 ship 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:—­