hall it be some time
amidst the Everlasting Beauty, when true joy shall begin and
never cease.'

Filled thus as Margaret was with ecstasy, she was yet more than
willing,--even glad,--to bear her share in the universal sorrow. Well
she knew that pain must be proportioned to the fineness and fervor of
her organization; that the very keenness of her sensibility exposed
her to constant disappointment or disgust; that no friend, however
faithful, could meet the demands of desires so eager, of sympathies
so absorbing. Contrasted with her radiant visions, how dreary looked
actual existence; how galling was the friction of petty hindrances;
how heavy the yoke of drudging care! Even success seemed failure,
when measured by her conscious aim; and experience had brought out to
consciousness excesses and defects, which humbled pride while shaming
self-confidence. But suffering as she did with all the intensity of so
passionate a nature, Margaret still welcomed the searching discipline.
'It is only when Persephone returns from lower earth that she weds
Dyonysos, and passes from central sadness into glowing joy,' she
writes. And again: 'I have no belief in beautiful lives; we are born
to be mutilated; and the blood must flow till in every vein its place
is supplied by the Divine ichor.' And she reiterates: 'The method of
Providence with me is evidently that of "cross-biassing," as Herbert
hath it. In a word, to her own conscience and to intimate friends she
avowed, without reserve, that there was in her 'much rude matter that
needed to be spiritualized.' Comment would but weaken the pathos of
the following passages, in which so plainly appears a once wilful
temper striving, with child-like faith, to obey:--

'I have been a chosen one; the lesson of renunciation was
early, fully taught, and the heart of stone quite broken
through. The Great Spirit wished to leave me no refuge but
itself. Convictions have been given, enough to guide me many
years if I am steadfast. How deeply, how gratefully I feel
this blessing, as the fabric of others' hopes are shivering
round me. Peace will not always flow thus softly in my life;
but, O, our Father! how many hours has He consecrated to
Himself. How often has the Spirit chosen the time, when no ray
came from without, to descend upon the orphan life!'

* * * * *

'A humbler, tenderer spirit! Yes, I long for it. Bu