Although Margaret endeavored to persuade herself that she was well, yet, from the change that took place in her habits in the autumn of 1836, it is evident that she knew her real situation. In compliance with her mother's oft-repeated advice, she gave up her studies, and sought by light reading and trivial employments to "kill time." Of the struggles which it cost her thus to pass six months, the following incident, as related by her mother, will inform us: "She was seated one day by my side, weary and restless, scarcely knowing what to do with herself, when, marking, the traces of grief upon my face, she threw her arms about my neck, and, kissing me, exclaimed, 'My dear, dear mother!' 'What is it affects you now, my child?' 'O, I know you are longing for something from my pen.' I saw the secret craving of the spirit that gave rise to the suggestion. 'I do indeed, my dear, delight in the effusions of your pen, but the exertion will injure you.' 'Mamma, I _must_ write! I can hold out no longer! I will return to my pen, my pencil, and my books, and shall again be happy.'" The following verses, written soon after, show the state of her feelings:-- "Earth, thou hast but nought to satisfy The cravings of immortal mind; Earth, thou hast nothing pure and high, The soaring, struggling soul to bind. Impatient of its long delay, The pinioned spirit fain would roam, And leave this crumbling house of clay, To seek, above, its own bright home! . . . . . . . . . . O, how mysterious is the bond Which blends the earthly with the pure, And mingles that which death may blight With that which ever must endure! Arise, my soul, from all below, And gaze upon thy destined home-- The heaven of heavens, the throne of God, Where sin and care can never come. . . . . . . . . . . Compound of weakness and of strength; Mighty, yet ignorant of thy power; Loftier than earth, or air, or sea, Yet meaner than the lowliest flower!-- Soaring towards heaven, yet clinging still To earth, by many a purer tie! Longing to breathe a tender air, Yet fearing, trembling thus to die!" Some verses written about the same period show the feelings she held towards her sister Lucretia. "My sister! with that thrilling word What thoughts unnumbered wildly spring! What echoes in my heart are stirred, While thus I touch the trembling string! My sister! ere this youthful mind Could feel the value of thine own; Ere this infantine heart could bind, In its deep cell, one look, one tone, To glide along on memory's stream, And bring back thrilling thoughts of thee; Ere I knew aught but childhood's dream, Thy soul had struggled, and was free. . . . . . . . . . . I cannot weep that thou art fled; Forever blends my soul with thine; Each thought, by purer impulse led, Is soaring on to realms divine. . . . . . . . . . .