can so grieve and discourage those heavenly friends as when you mock the suffering.  It was one of the highest praises of Jesus, “The bruised reed he will not break.”  Remember that, and never insult, where you cannot aid, a companion. * * *

’Let me warn you earnestly against acting insincerely, and appearing to wish to do right for the sake of approbation I know you must prize the good opinion of your friendly protectors; but do not buy it at the cost of truth.  Try to be, not to seem.  Only so far as you earnestly wish to do right for the sake of right, can you gain a principle that will sustain you hereafter; and that is what we wish, not fair appearances now.  A career can never be happy that begins with falsehood.  Be inwardly, outwardly true; then you will never be weakened or hardened by the consciousness of playing a part; and if, hereafter, the unfeeling or thoughtless give you pain, or take the dreadful risk of pushing back a soul emerging from darkness, you will feel the strong support of a good conscience. * * *

’And never be discouraged; never despond; never say, “It is too late.”  Fear not, even if you relapse again and again.  Many of you have much to contend with.  Some may be so faulty, by temperament or habit, that they can never on this earth lead a wholly fair and harmonious life, however much they strive.  Yet do what you can.  If in one act,—­for one day,—­you can do right, let that live like a point of light in your memory; for if you have done well once you can again.  If you fall, do not lie grovelling; but rise upon your feet once more, and struggle bravely on.  And if aroused conscience makes you suffer keenly, have patience to bear it.  God will not let you suffer more than you need to fit you for his grace.  At the very moment of your utmost pain, persist to seek his aid, and it will be given abundantly.  Cultivate this spirit of prayer.  I do not mean agitation and excitement, but a deep desire for truth, purity, and goodness, and you will daily learn how near He is to every one of ‘us.’’

These fragments, from a hasty report transcribed when the impressions of the hour had grown faint, give but a shadow of the broad good sense, hearty fellow-feeling, and pathetic hopefulness, which made so effective her truly womanly appeal.

This intercourse with the most unfortunate of her sex, and a desire to learn more of the causes of their degradation, and of the means of restoring them, led Margaret, immediately on reaching New York, to visit the various benevolent institutions, and especially the prisons on Blackwell’s Island.  And it was while walking among the beds of the lazar-house,—­mis-called “hospital,”—­which then, to the disgrace of the city, was the cess-pool of its social filth, that an incident occurred, as touching as it was surprising to herself.  A woman was pointed out who bore a very bad character, as hardened, sulky, and impenetrable.  She was in bad health and rapidly