in me to be so anxious about my family. As I went along, it seemed as if all I did was for God’s sake; but if it had been, could I now thus fear? My relations to them are altogether fair, so far as they go. As to their being no more to me than others of my kind, there is surely a mystic thrill betwixt children of one mother, which can never cease to he felt till the soul is quite born anew. The earthly family is the scaffold whereby we build the spiritual one. The glimpses we here obtain of what such relations should be are to me an earnest that the family is of Divine Order, and not a mere school of preparation. And in the state of perfect being which we call Heaven, I am assured that family ties will attain to that glorified beauty of harmonious adaptation, which stellar groups in the pure blue typify.’
Margaret’s admirable fidelity, as daughter and sister, — amidst her incessant literary pursuits, and her far-reaching friendships, can be justly appreciated by those only who were in her confidence; but from the following slight sketches generous hearts can readily infer what was the quality of her home-affections.
‘Mother writes from Canton that my dear old
grandmother is dead. I regret that you never saw her. She
was a picture of primitive piety, as she sat holding the
“Saint’s Rest” in her hand, with her bowed, trembling
figure, and her emphatic nods, and her sweet blue eyes.
They were bright to the last, though she was ninety.
It is a great loss to mother, who felt a large place
warmed in her heart by the fond and grateful love of
this aged parent.’
‘We cannot be sufficiently grateful for our mother, —
