My health is frail; my earthly
life is shrunk to a scanty rill; I am little better than an
aspiration, which the ages will reward, by empowering me to
incessant acts of vigorous beauty. But now it is well with me
to be with those who do not suffer overmuch to have me suffer.
It is best for me to serve where I can better bear to fall
short. I could visit ---- more nobly than in daily life,
through the soul of our souls. When she named me her
Priestess, that name made me perfectly happy. Long has been my
consecration; may I not meet those I hold dear at the altar?
How would I pile up the votive offerings, and crowd the fires
with incense? Life might be full and fair; for, in my own way,
I could live for my friends.' * *
* * * * *
'_Dec. 8th, 1840._--My book of amusement has been the Evenings
of St. Petersburg. I do not find the praises bestowed on it at
all exaggerated. Yet De Maistre is too logical for me. I only
catch a thought here and there along the page. There is a
grandeur even in the subtlety of his mind. He walks with
a step so still, that, but for his dignity, it would be
stealthy, yet with brow erect and wide, eye grave and deep.
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