THE HIGHLANDS.

Seeking thus, at once, expansion and rest in new employments, Margaret determined, in the autumn of 1844, to accept a liberal offer of Messrs. Greeley and McElrath, to become a constant contributor to the New York Tribune.  But before entering upon her new duties, she found relaxation, for a few weeks, amid the grand scenery of the Hudson.  In October, she writes from Fishkill Landing:—­

’Can I find words to tell you how I enjoy being here, encircled by the majestic beauty of these mountains?  I felt regret, indeed, in bidding farewell to Boston, so many marks of affection were shown me at the last, and so many friendships, true if imperfect, were left behind.  But now I am glad to feel enfranchized in the society of Nature.  I have a well-ordered, quiet house to dwell in, with nobody’s humors to consult but my own.  From my windows I see over the tops of variegated trees the river, with its purple heights beyond, and a few moments’ walk brings me to the lovely shore, where sails are gliding continually by, and the huge steamers sweep past with echoing tread, and a train of waves, whose rush relieves the monotone of the ripples.  In the country behind us are mountain-paths, and lonely glens, with gurgling streams, and many-voiced water-falls.  And over all are spread the gorgeous hues of autumn.’

And again:—­

’"From the brain of the purple mountain” flows forth cheer to my somewhat weary mind.  I feel refreshed amid these bolder shapes of nature.  Mere gentle and winning landscapes are not enough.  How I wish my birth had been cast among the sources of the streams, where the voice of hidden torrents is heard by night, and the eagle soars, and the thunder resounds in prolonged peals, and wide blue shadows fall like brooding wings across the valleys!  Amid such scenes, I expand and feel at home.  All the fine days I spend among the mountain passes, along the mountain brooks, or beside the stately river.  I enjoy just the tranquil happiness I need in communion with this fair grandeur.’

And, again:—­

’The boldness, sweetness, and variety here, are just what I like.  I could pass the autumn in watching the exquisite changes of light and shade on the heights across the river.  How idle to pretend that one could live and write as well amid fallow flat fields!  This majesty, 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.”