CHAPTER IV.

STRUGGLES OF INTELLECT.

"The clouds may drop down titles and estates; Wealth may seek us; but wisdom must be sought." Young.

IN April, 1838, Adaline leaves "the dear old Seminary," with many a fond regret for the friends with whom she has been so pleasantly connected. The homestead is still delightful, glowing with happy faces, and ringing with merry voices. Spring has spread a green carpet over the earth, and broken the icy fetters which bound her " "pretty brook." Garden, grove and lawn are putting forth their blossoms; and bird and breeze woo her once more to her favorite haunts. But amidst all the love and poetry of home, she mourns the suspension of her studies. An insatiable thirst for knowledge has taken possession of her soul, and left no room for any other idea. Shortly her brother sets out for college, and her cousin returns to Lima. A shadow falls upon her heart, as the carriage rolls away. She sighs for their companionship, and fain would be their competitor in the pursuit of science. Dejected, however, she does not despair. "What then?" she exclaims, "Have I not books to read,

and a whole universe to study? Give me but time and strength!"

And this feeling is no meteor blaze, extinguished in the moment of its manifestation. She studies in

tensely-taxes her powers to the utmost. Her brother, by reiterated exhortations in his letters, still feeds the flame of her ambition. In the fall he returns, to spend the winter in her society, and aid the development of her struggling intellect. But his fraternal schemes are thwarted by a violent pulmonary attack, which suddenly prostrates her health, and effectually saps her constitution. Very mournful are her reflections, "when Hope, amid such dreams of sweet fruition, awakes in the very spasms of despair!" Her brother remains with her till spring, but rather as nurse than teacher. last of April finds her "much better," and he returns to college. The epistolary intercourse is now renewed. A variety of plans are proposed for Adaline's mental improvement; of which, alas! her feeble health never permits the execution.

The

In the ensuing autumn, the brother is again at the Grove, with several new text books for her use. The winter is devoted to Ancient Languages and Belles Lettres. In the latter department, the mode of study and investigation is somewhat original. After a copious and elaborate analysis of the text, the several topics are taken up in consecutive order, and freely discussed. Difficulties are suggested, various objections started, and the positions of the

author boldly controverted. Adaline is obliged to sift every statement, illustrate every obscurity, and vindicate the doctrines of the text. In this manner the subject is thoroughly investigated, and effectually mastered. The fair pupil becomes as familiar with Hedge, Blair, Kames, Wayland and Abercrombie, as formerly with Robinson Crusoe and The Arabian Nights. But these free debates are very exciting; and she is frequently mortified to find herself foiled in the argument. Is it one of these defeats occasions the following reflections?

"I have been taking a partial survey of my acquirements. How humiliating the result! little have I mastered! I am not quite sure that I know anything, and almost fear I never shall. Poor ignoramus! toiling, toiling, toiling, only to ascertain my own mental poverty! brushing the dust and cobwebs from the mirror, only to see its reflection of my ill-shapen dwarfishness! wrestling and struggling, only to learn the utter inutility of my efforts! When I first read French and Latin, and dipped a little into Mental Science, I thought myself on the highway to intellectual eminence. The sack of gold lay just at the foot of the rainbow. The acme at which I aimed-which I imagined myself approximating is now entirely out of sight. But perhaps I ought not yet to despair. Is not the diagnosis of the disease the first step towards its cure? Wisdom, according to Pope,

'Is but to know how little can be known, To see all others' faults, and feel our own.' If this is true, I am actually beginning to grow wise. The painful conviction, then, of my shortcomings, instead of paralyzing my energies, should rouse them to more vigorous action. I will begin

anew."

In the spring of 1840, Thales returns to college, and Adaline is quite alone in her studies. Her younger brothers are not yet old enough to be her intellectual compeers. But she does not relax her efforts, nor suffer her ambition to flag. She reads, writes, thinks, with untiring assiduity; and pauses only at the stern interdiction of the sick-bed. To her former pursuits she now adds Drawing, Painting and Botany. The last becomes her "favorite study;" and before the season closes, she has "filled a large herbarium." Her estimate of this charming science is thus indicated in the diary:

"To me, Botany is quite equal to Astronomy; for what are flowers, but the stars of earth? and what are stars, but the flowers of heaven? Nay, superior; for we can wander among the flowers, and pluck them, and analyze them; while the stars, from the far off fields of heaven, forever mock the inadequacy of our instruments.

This element of inward beauty is strongly characteristic of woman. Her soul claims kindred with

the fairest works of God; coalesces with the beautiful sooner than with the sublime;

"And all earth's flowers, so fair, so sweet,

Would flourish but a while,

If, in return, they could not meet

The light of woman's smile."

Adaline imagined the flowers conscious of her sympathy; and spoke of them as friends, reciprocating her love. This feeling continued with her through life, and found expression on her bed of death. Only a few hours before her exit, she amused herself with buds and blossoms, quoting the sweet lines of Longfellow:

"Emblems of our own great resurrection,
Emblems of the bright and better land."

Throughout the whole of his collegiate course, Thales, with the self-sacrifice of a noble brother, worthy of such a sister, devoted one session each year to Adaline's education. This, next to his own, was the most cherished desire of his heart. To his

assistance, more than any other agency, except her own exertions, she owed that complete mental development for which she was so remarkable. She used to say: "I learned to think with Thales, and know not how to think without him." Like Eckerman with Goethe, she thought she derived improvement from his very presence, even when he spoke not a word.

In the autumn he graduates, and hastens home; bringing with him, as a present to his sister, the