f its chosen aim despair,-- Some bitter tears may be forgiven By Man, at least,—we trust, by Heaven.
May 23d, 1836.—I have just been reading Goethe's Lebensregel.
It is easy to say Do not trouble yourself with useless regrets for the past; enjoy the present, and leave the future to God.
But it is not easy for characters, which are by nature neither calm nor careless, to act upon these rules.
I am rather of the opinion of Novalis, that Wer sich der hochsten Lieb ergeben Genest von ihnen Wunden nie.
But I will endeavor to profit by the instructions of the great philosopher who teaches, I think, what Christ did, to use without overvaluing the world.
Circumstances have decided that I must not go to Europe, and shut upon me the door, as I think, forever, to the scenes I could have loved.
Let me now try to forget myself, and act for others' sakes.
What I can do with my pen, I know not. At present, I feel no confidence or hope.
The expectations so many have bee