memorable to me as laying the foundation of a friendship which brought light to my mind, which enlarged my heart, and gave elevation and energy to my aims and purposes.
For nearly twenty years, Margaret remained true to the pledges of this note.
In a few years we were separated, but our friendship remained firm.
Living in different parts of the country, occupied with different thoughts and duties, making other friends,—sometimes not seeing nor hearing from each other for months,—we never met without my feeling that she was ready to be interested in all my thoughts, to love those whom I loved, to watch my progress, to rebuke my faults and follies, to encourage within me every generous and pure aspiration, to demand of me, always, the best that I could be or do, and to be satisfied with no mediocrity, no conformity to any low standard.
And what she thus was to me, she was to many others.
Inexhaustible in power of insight, and with a good-will ‘broad as ether,’ she could enter into the needs, and sympathize with the various excellences, of the greatest variety of characters.
One thing only she demanded of all her friends,—that they should have some ‘extraordinary generous seeking,’1
that they should not be satisfied with the common routine of life,—that they should aspire to something higher, better, holier, than they had now attained.
Where this element of aspiration existed, she demanded no originality of intellect, no greatness of soul.
If these were found, well; but she could love,