'It is a great pleasure to me to give you this book; both that
I have a brother whom I think worthy to value it, and that
I can give him something worthy to be valued more and more
through all his life. Whatever height we may attain in
knowledge, whatever facility in the expression of thoughts,
will only enable us to do more justice to what is drawn
from so deep a source of faith and intellect, and arrayed,
oftentimes, in the fairest hues of nature. Yet it may not be
well for a young mind to dwell too near one tuned to so high
a pitch as this writer, lest, by trying to come into concord
with him, the natural tones be overstrained, and the strings
weakened by untimely pressure. Do not attempt, therefore, to
read this book through, but keep it with you, and when the
spirit is fresh and earnest turn to it. It is full of the
tide-marks of great thoughts, but these can be understood
by one only who has gained, by experience, some knowledge of
these tides. The ancient sages knew how to greet a brother who
had consecrated his life to thought, and was never disturbed
from his purpose by a lower aim. But it is only to those
perfected in purity that Pythagoras can show a golden thigh.
'One word as to your late readings. They came in a timely way
to admonish you, amidst mere disciplines, as to the future
uses of such disciplines. But systems of philosophy are mere
pictures to him, who has not yet learned how to systematize.
From an inward opening of your nature these knowledges must
begin to be evolved, ere you can apprehend aught beyond
their beauty, as revealed in the mind of another. Study in a
reverent and patient spirit, blessing the day that leads you
the least step onward. Do not ride hobbies. Do not hasten
to conclusions. Be not coldly sceptical towards any thinker,
neither credulous of his views. A man, whose mind is full of
error, may give us the genial sense of truth, as a tropical
sun, while it rears crocodiles, yet ripens the wine of the
palm-tree.
'To turn again to my Ancients: while they believed in
self-reliance with a force little known in our day, they
dreaded no pains of initiation, but fitted themselves for
intelligent recognition of the truths on which our being is
based, by slow gradations of travel, study, speech, silence,
bravery, and patience. That so it may be with you, dear ----,
hopes your sister and friend.'
A few extracts from family letters written at different times, and
under various conditions, may be added.
'I read with great interest the papers you left with me. The
picture and the emotions suggested are genuine. The youthful
figure, no doubt, stands portress at the gate of Infinite
Beauty; yet I would say to one I loved as I do you, do not
waste these emotions, nor the occasions which excite them.
There is danger of prodigality,--of lavishing the best
treasures of the breast on objects that cannot be the
permanent ones. It is true, that whatever thought is awakened
in the mind becomes truly ours; but it is a great happiness
to owe these influences to a cause so proportioned to our
strength as to grow with it. I say this merely because I
fear that the virginity of heart which I believe essential
to feeling a real love, in all its force and purity, may
be endangered by too careless excursions into the realms of
fancy.'
* * * * *
'It is told us, we should pray, "lead us not into temptation;"
and I agree. Yet I think it cannot be, that, with a good
disposition, and the means you have had to form your mind and
discern a higher standard, your conduct or happiness can be
so dependent on circumstances, as you seem to think. I never
advised your taking a course which would blunt your finer
powers and I do not believe that winning the means of
pecuniary independence need do so. I have not found that it
does, in my own case, placed at much greater disadvantage than
you are. I have never considered, either, that there was
any misfortune in your lot. Health, good abilities, and a
well-placed youth, form a union of advantages possessed by
few, and which leaves you little excuse for fault or failure.
And so to your better genius and the instruction of the One
Wise, I commend you.'
* * * * *
'It gave me great pleasure to get your last letter, for these
little impromptu effusions are the genuine letters. I rejoice
that man and nature seem harmonious to you, and that the heart
beats in unison with the voices of Spring. May all that is
manly, sincere, and pure, in your wishes, be realized! Obliged
to live myself without the sanctuary of the central relations,
yet feeling I must still not despair, nor fail to profit by
the precious gifts of life, while "leaning upon our Father's
hand," I still rejoice, if any one can, in the true temper,
and with well-founded hopes, secure a greater completeness of
earthly existence. This fortune is as likely to be yours, as
any one's I know. It seems to me dangerous, however, to meddle
with the future. I never lay my hand on it to grasp it with
impunity.'
* * * * *
'Of late I have often thought of you with strong yearnings of
affection and desire to see you. It would seem to me, also,
that I had not devoted myself to you enough, if I were not
conscious that by any more attention to the absent than I have
paid, I should have missed the needed instructions from the
present. And I feel that any bond of true value will endure
necessary neglect.'
* * * * *
'There is almost too much of bitter mixed in the cup of life.
You say religion is a mere sentiment with you, and that if
you are disappointed in your first, your very first hopes and
plans, you do not know whether you shall be able to act well.
I do not myself see how a reflecting soul can endure the
passage through life, except by confidence in a Power that
must at last order all things right, and the resolution that
it shall not be our own fault if we are not happy,--that we
will resolutely deserve to be happy. There are many bright
glimpses in life, many still hours; much worthy toil, some
deep and noble joys; but, then, there are so many, and such
long, intervals, when we are kept from all we want, and must
perish but for such thoughts.'
* * * * *
'You need not fear, dear ----, my doing anything to chill
you. I am only too glad of the pure happiness you so sweetly
describe. I well understand what you say of its invigorating
you for every enterprise. I was always sure it would be so
with me,--that resigned, I could do well, but happy I could
do excellently. Happiness must, with the well-born, expand
the generous affections towards all men, and invigorate one to
deserve what the gods have given.'
Margaret's charities and courtesies were not limited to her kindred.
She fell, at once, into agreeable relations with her domestics,
became their confidant, teacher, and helper, studied their characters,
consulted their convenience, warned them of their dangers or
weaknesses, and rejoiced to gratify their worthy tastes; and, in
return, no lady could receive, from servants, more punctual or hearty
attendance. She knew how to command and how to persuade, and her
sympathy was perfect. They felt the power of her mind, her hardy
directness, prompt judgment, decision and fertility of resource, and
liked to aid one who knew so well her own wants. 'Around my path,' she
writes,
'how much humble love continually flows. These every-day and
lowly friends never forget my wishes, never censure my
whims, make no demands on me, and load me with gifts and
uncomplaining service. Though sometimes forgetful of their
claims, I try to make it up when we do meet, and I trust give
little pain as I pass along this world.'
Even in extreme cases of debasement she found more to admire than to
contemn, and won the confidence of the fallen by manifesting her real
respect. "There was in my family," writes a friend, "a very handsome
young girl, who had been vicious in her habits, and so enamored of
one of her lovers, that when he deserted her, she attempted to drown
herself. She was rescued, and some good people were eager to reform
her life. While she was engaged in housework for us, Margaret saw her,
and one day asked ---- if she could not help her. ---- replied: 'No!
for should I begin to talk with her, I should show my consciousness of
her history so much as to be painful.' Margaret was very indignant at
this weakness. Said she,
'This girl is taken away, you know, from all her objects of
interest, and must feel her life vacant and dreary. Her mind
should be employed; she should be made to feel her powers.'
It was plain that if Margaret had been near her, she would have
devoted herself at once to her education and reestablishment."
About the time of breaking up their home, Margaret thus expressed, to
one of her brothers, her hopes and plans.
'You wish, dear ----, that I was not obliged to toil and spin,
but could live, for a while, like the lilies. I wish so,
too, for life has fatigued me, my strength is little, and the
present state of my mind demands repose and refreshment,
that it may ripen some fruit worthy of the long and deep
experiences through which I have passed. I do not regret that
I have shared the labors and cares of the suffering million,
and have acquired a feeling sense of the conditions under
which the Divine has appointed the development of the human.
Yet, if our family affairs could now be so arranged, that I
might be tolerably tranquil for the next six or eight years,
I should go out of life better satisfied with the page I have
turned in it, than I shall if I must still toil on. A noble
career is yet before me, if I can be unimpeded by cares. I
have given almost all my young energies to personal relations;
but, at present, I feel inclined to impel the general stream
of thought. Let my nearest friends also wish that I should now
take share in more public life.'
[Footnote A: Summer on the Lakes.]
[Footnote B: The editor must offer as excuse for printing, without
permission asked, this note, found carefully preserved among
Margaret's papers, that he knew no other way of so truly indicating
the relation between mother and daughter. This lily is eloquent of the
valley where it grew. W.H.C.]