however, will be wearied out, as I know by experience, alas! of how many such hours.’
‘I am reminded to-day of the autumn hours at
Jamaica Plain, where, after arranging everything for
others that they wanted of me, I found myself, at
last, alone in my still home, where everything, for
once, reflected my feelings. It was so still, the air
seemed full of spirits. How happy I was! with what
sweet and solemn happiness! All things had tended to
a crisis in me, and I was in a higher state, mentally
and spiritually, than I ever was before or shall be
again, till death shall introduce me to a new sphere. I
purposed to spend the winter in study and self-collection,
and to write constantly. I thought I should thus
be induced to embody in beautiful forms all that lay in
my mind, and that life would ripen into genius. But
a very little while these fair hopes bloomed; and, since
I was checked then, I do never expect to blossom forth
on earth, and all postponements come naturally. At
that time it seemed as if angels left me. Yet, now, I
think they still are near. Renunciation appears to be
entire, and I quite content; yet, probably, ’tis no such
thing, and that work is to be done over and over
again.’
‘Do you believe our prayers avail for one another?
and that happiness is good for the soul? Pray, then,
for me, that I may have a little peace, — some green
and flowery spot, ’mid which my thoughts may rest;
yet not upon fallacy, but only upon something genuine.
I am deeply homesick, yet where is that home? If
not on earth, why should we look to heaven? I would
