precious than those opened, in early life, to my culture.  One must have grown up with flowers, and found joy and sweetness in them, amidst disagreeable occupations, to take delight in their whole existence as I do.  They have long had power to bring me into harmony with the Creator, and to soothe almost any irritation.  Therefore I understand your love for these beautiful things, and it gives me real pleasure to procure them for you.

’"You have done everything that the most affectionate and loving daughter could, under all circumstances.  My faith in your generous desire to increase my happiness is founded on the knowledge I have gained of your disposition, through your whole life.  I should ask your sympathy and aid, whenever it could be available, knowing that you would give it first to me.  Waste no thought on neglected duties.  I know of none.  Let us pursue our appointed paths, aiding each other in rough places; and if I live to need the being led by the hand, I always feel that you will perform this office wisely and tenderly.  We shall ever have perfect peace between us.  Yours, in all love."’

Margaret adds:—­

’It has been, and still is, hard for me to give up the thought of serenity, and freedom from toil and care, for mother, in the evening of a day which has been all one work of disinterested love.  But I am now confident that she will learn from every trial its lesson; and if I cannot be her protector, I can be at least her counsellor and soother.’

From the less private parts of Margaret’s correspondence with the younger members of the family, some passages may be selected, as attesting her quick and penetrating sympathy, her strict truth, and influential wisdom.  They may be fitly prefaced by these few but emphatic words from a letter of one of her brothers:—­

“I was much impressed, during my childhood, at Groton, with an incident that first disclosed to me the tenderness of Margaret’s character.  I had always viewed her as a being of different nature from myself, to whose altitudes of intellectual life I had no thought of ascending.  She had been absent during the winter, and on her return asked me for some account of my experiences.  Supposing that she could not enter into such insignificant details, I was not frank or warm in my confidence, though I gave no reason for my reserve; and the matter had passed from my mind, when our mother told me that Margaret had shed tears, because I seemed to heed so little her sisterly sympathy.  ‘Tears from one so learned,’ thought I, ‘for the sake of one so inferior!’ Afterwards, my heart opened to her, as to no earthly friend.

“The characteristic trait of Margaret, to which all her talents and acquirements were subordinate, was sympathy,—­universal sympathy.  She had that large intelligence and magnanimity which enabled her to comprehend the struggles and triumphs of every form of character.  Loving