’July 6, 1832.—­I believe I behaved very badly the other evening.  I did not think so yesterday.  I had been too surprised and vexed to recover very easily, but to-day my sophistries have all taken wing, and I feel that nothing good could have made me act with such childish petulance and bluntness towards one who spoke from friendly emotions.  Be at peace; I will astonish you by my repose, mildness, and self-possession.  No, that is silly; but I believe it cannot be right to be on such terms with any one, that, on the least vexation, I indulge my feelings at his or her expense.  We will talk less, but we shall be very good friends still, I hope.  Shall not we?’

In the last extract, we have an example of that genuine humility, which, being a love of truth, underlaid her whole character, notwithstanding its seeming pride.  She could not have been great as she was, without it.[A]

’December 19th, 1829.—­I shall always be glad to have you come to me when saddened.  The melancholic does not misbecome you.  The lights of your character are wintry.  They are generally inspiriting, life-giving, but, if perpetual, would glare too much on the tired sense; one likes sometimes a cloudy day, with its damp and warmer breath,—­its gentle, down-looking shades.  Sadness in some is intolerably ungraceful and oppressive; it affects one like a cold rainy day in June or September, when all pleasure departs with the sun; everything seems out of place and irrelative to the time; the clouds are fog, the atmosphere leaden,—­but ’tis not so with you.’

Of her own truthfulness to her friends, which led her frankly to speak to them of their faults or dangers, her correspondence gives constant examples.

The first is from a letter of later date than properly belongs to this chapter, but is so wholly in her spirit of candor that I insert it here.  It is from a letter written in 1843.

’I have been happy in the sight of your pure design, of the sweetness and serenity of your mind.  In the inner sanctuary we met.  But I shall say a few blunt words, such as were frequent in the days of intimacy, and, if they are needless, you will let them fall to the ground.  Youth is past, with its passionate joys and griefs, its restlessness, its vague desires.  You have chosen your path, you have rounded out your lot, your duties are before you. Now beware the mediocrity that threatens middle age, its limitation of thought and interest, its dulness of fancy, its too external life, and mental thinness.  Remember the limitations that threaten every professional man, only to be guarded against by great earnestness and watchfulness.  So take care of yourself, and let not the intellect more than the spirit be quenched.

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