sincerity with which you reproved and the love with which you pardoned my faults; of how much you taught me, and bore with from me,—­it would have softened the flint of my heart, and I should have relaxed from my isolation.

’How shall I apologize for feelings which I now recognize as having been so cold, so bitter and unjust?  I can only say I have suffered greatly, till the tone of my spirits seems destroyed.  Since I have been at leisure to realize how very ill I have been, under what constant pain and many annoyances I have kept myself upright, and how, if I have not done my work, I have learned my lesson to the end, I should be inclined to excuse myself for every fault, except this neglect and ingratitude against friends.  Yet, if you can forgive, I will try to forgive myself, and I do think I shall never so deeply sin again.’

Yet, though thus frank to own to herself and to her peers her errors, Margaret cherished a trust in her powers, a confidence in her destiny, and an ideal of her being, place and influence, so lofty as to be extravagant.  In the morning-hour and mountain-air of aspiration, her shadow moved before her, of gigantic size, upon the snow-white vapor.

In accordance with her earnest charge, ‘Be true as Truth to me,’ I could not but expose this propensity to self-delusion; and her answer is her best explanation and defence:—­

’I protest against your applying to me, even in your most transient thought, such an epithet as “determined exaggeration.”  Exaggeration, if you will; but not determined.  No; I would have all open to the light, and would let my boughs be pruned, when they grow rank and unfruitful, even if I felt the knife to the quick of my being.  Very fain would I have a rational modesty, without self-distrust; and may the knowledge of my failures leaven my soul, and check its intemperance.  If you saw me wholly, you would not, I think, feel as you do; for you would recognize the force, that regulates my life and tempers the ardor with an eventual calmness.  You would see, too, that the more I take my flight in poetical enthusiasm, the stronger materials I bring back for my nest.  Certainly I am nowise yet an angel; but neither am I an utterly weak woman, and far less a cold intellect.  God is rarely afar off.  Exquisite nature is all around.  Life affords vicissitudes enough to try the energies of the human will.  I can pray, I can act, I can learn, I can constantly immerse myself in the Divine Beauty.  But I also need to love my fellow-men, and to meet the responsive glance of my spiritual kindred.’

Again, she says:—­