can, upon me. Well, I can bear so much pain bravely, I am sure, so I will take no further thought about it, but walk boldly on, and be ready for the bite when it comes’ — and my fear was gone. The story sounds trifling, but it is not so in my life, because the philosophy I learned from that moment’s thought has been of so much use to me since, in carrying me straight up to the ghosts of possible evils, showing their real power. And better than this philosophy is the trust which, by ‘always thinking unto it,’ we hope to make our home — the assurance that we might and surely shall be so cared for as we could not care for ourselves.”[1]
It is evident, from Margaret Fuller’s letters, that the effect of these occasions on herself varied with mood, health, and external influences. She enjoyed with eagerness the intellectual exercise; she felt that she was, perhaps, doing some good; and the longing for affection, which was one of the strongest traits of her nature, was gratified by the warm allegiance of her pupils. She went back to Jamaica Plain, every now and then, to rest, and, while rejoicing in that respite, still felt that her field was action, and that she could not, like Mr. Emerson, withdraw from the world to a quiet rural home. She wrote thus, on one occasion, to the Rev. W. H. Channing: —
“Two days in Boston; how the time flies there and bears no perfume on its wings, — I am always most happy to return to my solitude, yet willing to bear the contact of society, with all its low views and rash blame,
- ↑ MS.
