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184 LETTERS.
from pain, and she fell asleep. During this last illness,
we often read psalms to her, and her dearest thoughts
were her reunion with the beloved ones who had gone be-
fore. Love and hope never left her heart. Thank God,
that I was permitted to come and be near her during this
time. I would not barter the bitterness thereof for much
that is sweet and delightful. Above her grave heaven’s
vault expands itself, full of bright promises of glittering
lights. The day of her funeral was very fine, and all went
off beautifully and well. She would have been pleased
with it herself. I left Tomb a few days after the funeral,
and on my arrival at Arsta I had the pleasure of finding
our mother and Agatha well and in good spirits, and our
home peaceful and happy as usual.
ToMB, 26th November, 1835.
Dearest Frances! The thanks which so long have been
on my lips for your friendly lines, must at last leave them
and take wing. Let them also tell you, that it makes me
so very happy that you think of me, and that you find
pleasure in my epistles.
Many, many times have I intended writing to you, and
to speak with you about the real and the ideal, about re-
ligion, about morals, etc., etc. I wished to tell you my
views on these subjects, in exchange for yours ; but of these
I have always remembered something since last winter.
Do you remember how we then read together some pas–
sages out of Miss Martineau’s pleasant little novel, “ Briery
Creek ?” do you remember when — strangely enough for
such an intelligent person—she expresses the idea that
knowledge is the highest aim of man and of civilization,
and that virtue is to be considered only as a means to that
end; how we both were unanimous in saying, “ No! vir-
tue is the aim; knowledge only the means of attaining
that aim?” But if we agree in this point, I have been
thinking, — What in the world do we then dispute about?
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