side, and reverence the lovely forms of nature, and the shifting moods, and the clinging instincts.  But I must not let them disturb me.  There is an only guide, the voice in the heart, that asks, “Was thy wish sincere?  If so, thou canst not stray from nature, nor be so perverted but she will make thee true again.”  I must take my own path, and learn from them all, without being paralyzed for the day.  We need great energy, faith, and self-reliance to endure to-day.  My age may not be the best, my position may be bad, my character ill-formed; but Thou, oh Spirit! hast no regard to aught but the seeking heart; and, if I try to walk upright, wilt guide me.  What despair must he feel, who, after a whole life passed in trying to build up himself, resolves that it would have been far better if he had kept still as the clod of the valley, or yielded easily as the leaf to every breeze!  A path has been appointed me.  I have walked in it as steadily as I could.  I am what I am; that which I am not, teach me in the others.  I will bear the pain of imperfection, but not of doubt.  E. must not shake me in my worldliness, nor ——­ in the fine motion that has given me what I have of life, nor this child of genius make me lay aside the armor, without which I had lain bleeding on the field long since; but, if they can keep closer to nature, and learn to interpret her as souls, also, let me learn from them what I have not.’

And, in connection with this conversation, she has copied the following lines which this gentleman addressed to her:—­

  “TO MARGARET.

  I mark beneath thy life the virtue shine
  That deep within the star’s eye opes its day;
  I clutch the gorgeous thoughts thou throw’st away
  From the profound unfathomable mine,
  And with them this mean common hour do twine,
  As glassy waters on the dry beach play. 
  And I were rich as night, them to combine
  With, my poor store, and warm me with thy ray. 
  From the fixed answer of those dateless eyes
  I meet bold hints of spirit’s mystery
  As to what’s past, and hungry prophecies
  Of deeds to-day, and things which are to be;
  Of lofty life that with the eagle flies,
  And humble love that clasps humanity.”

I have thus vaguely designated, among the numerous group of her friends, only those who were much in her company, in the early years of my acquaintance with her.

She wore this circle of friends, when I first knew her, as a necklace of diamonds about her neck.  They were so much to each other, that Margaret seemed to represent them all, and, to know her, was to acquire a place with them.  The confidences given her were their best, and she held them to them.  She was an active, inspiring companion and correspondent, and all the art, the thought, and the nobleness in New England, seemed, at that moment, related to her, and she to it.  She was everywhere a welcome guest.  The houses of her friends in town and country were