and invariable power over the minds of my pupils.
My wish has been, to purify my own conscience, when near them; give clear views of the aims of this life; show them where the magazines of knowledge lie; and leave the rest to themselves and the Spirit, who must teach and help them to self-impulse.
I told Mrs. W. it was much if we did not injure them; if they were passing the time in a way that was not bad, so that good influences have a chance.
Perhaps people in general must expect greater outward results, or they would feel no interest.
With the intellect I always have, always shall, overcome; but that is not the half of the work.
The life, the life!
O, my God!
shall the life never be sweet?
I have inquired diligently of those who saw her often, and in different companies, concerning her habitual tone, and something like this is the report:—In conversation, Margaret seldom, except as a special grace, admitted others upon an equal ground with herself.
She was exceedingly tender, when she pleased to be, and most cherishing in her influence; but to elicit this tenderness, it was necessary to submit first to her personally.
When a person was overwhelmed by her, and answered not a word, except, ‘Margaret, be merciful to me, a sinner,’ then her love and tenderness would come like a seraph's, and often an acknowledgment that she had been too harsh, and even a craving for pardon, with a humility, —which, perhaps, she had caught from the other.
But her instinct was not humility,—that was always an afterthought.
This arrogant tone of her conversation, if it came to be the subject of comment, of course, she defended, and