nstead of the latter. I have
had some experience of the "conflict and dismay" of this present evil
world; but then I have also had some of its smiles. Neither of these
ever made me angry with this life, or in love with it. I believe I am
pretty cool and philosophical, but it won't do for me at this early day
to be boasting of what is in me. I shall have to wait till circumstances
bring it out. I can only answer for the past and the present--the one
having been blessed and gladdened and the other _being_ made happy and
cheerful by lover and husband. I'll tell you truly, as I promised to do,
if my heart sings another tune on the 17th of April, 1848. I only hope
I shall enter soberly and thankfully on my new life, expecting sunshine
and rain, drought and plenty, heat and cold--and adapting myself to
alternations contentedly--but who knows? We are boarding at a hotel,
which is not over pleasant. However, we have two good rooms and have
home things about us. I like to sit at work while Mr. Prentiss writes
his sermons and he likes to have me--so, for the present, a study can be
dispensed with. In a few weeks we hope to get to housekeeping. I like
New Bedford very much.

To her husband she writes, June 18:

I can not help writing you again, though I did send you a letter last
night. It is a very pleasant morning, and I think of you all the time
and love you with the happiest tears in my eyes. I have just been making
some nice crispy gingerbread to send Mrs. H----, as she has no appetite,
and I thought anything from home would taste good to her. I hope this
will please you. Mother called with me to see her yesterday. She looks
very ill. I have no idea she will ever get well. We had a nice time at
the garden last night. Mr. and Miss Arnold came out and walked with us
nearly an hour, though tea was waiting for them, and Miss A. was very
particularly attentive to me (for your dear sake!), and gave me flowers,
beautiful ones, and spoke with much interest of your sermons. Oh, I am
ready to jump for joy, when I think of seeing you home again. Do please
be glad as I am. I suppose your mother wants you too; but then she can't
love you as I do--I'm sure she can't--with all the children among whom
she has to divide her heart. Give my best love to her and Abby. How I
wish I were in Portland, helping you pack your books. But I can't write
any more as we are going to Mrs. Gibbs' to tea. Mother is reading Hamlet
in her room. She is enjoying