She demanded to serve all. When ill-health, domestic care, unsatisfied longings after life and action combined to depress her, she found, as so many others have found, that even self-devotion was only a palliative. She writes in her diary: —
“I went to walk with Richard, then sang psalm tunes with Lloyd, then wrote to Aunt Mary. When I have not joyous energy in myself, I can do these little things for others; very many of my attentions are of this spurious sort; they are my consolations; the givers [of gratitude] who thank me are deceived. But what can I do? I cannot always upbear my life all alone. The heart sinks and then I must help it by persuasions that it is better for others I should be here and theirs. It is mere palliative, I know.
“In earliest days how many night-hours have found me thus. I was always so lonely. I used to cheer myself with my piano. I wish I had it now.
| “ | When no gentle eye-beam charms, |
| No fond hope the bosom warms, | |
| Of thinking the lone mind is tired, | |
| Nought seems bright to be desired, | |
| Music, by thy sails unfurled, | |
| Bear me to thy better world; | |
| O’er the cold and weltering sea | |
| Blow thy breezes warm and free, | |
| By sad sighs they ne’er were chilled, | |
| By skeptic spell were never stilled.”[1] |
Again she writes, at the same period, she having then various classes to teach: —
“Did not get home till just before my class came. Was obliged to lie on the bed all the time they were
- ↑ MS. Diary, 1844.
