s in Portland are marrying off like
all possessed. It reminds me of a shovel full of popcorn, which the more
you watch it the more it won't pop, till at last it all goes racketing
off at once, pop, pop, pop; without your having time to say Jack
Robinson between.

My position as wife of a minister secures for me many affectionate
attentions, and opens to me many little channels of happiness, which
conspire to make me feel contented and at home here. I do not know how
a stranger would find New Bedford people, but I am inclined to think
society is hard to get into, though its heart is warm when you once do
get in. We are very pleasantly situated, and our married life has been
abundantly blessed. I doubt if we could fail to be contented anywhere if
we had each other to love and care for.

We went to hear Templeton sing last night. I was perfectly charmed with
his hunting song and with some others, and better judges than I were
equally delighted. I had a letter from Abby last week. She is in
Vicksburg and in fine spirits, and fast returning health.

Her letters during 1846 glow with the sunshine of domestic peace and
joy. In its earlier months her health was unusually good and she depicts
her happiness as something "wonderful." All the day long her heart, she
says, was "running over" with a love and delight she could not begin
to express. But her letters also show that already she was having
foretastes of that baptism of suffering, which was to fit her for doing
her Master's work. In January she revisited Portland, where she had the
pleasure of meeting Prof, and Mrs. Hopkins with their little boy, and
of passing several weeks in the society of her own and her husband's
family. But Portland had now lost for her much of its attraction. "I've
seen all the folks," she wrote, "and we've said about all we've got to
say to each other, and though I love to be at home, of course, it is not
the home it used to be before you had made such another dear, dear home
for me. Oh, do you miss me? do you feel a _little bit_ sorry you let me
leave you? Do say, yes.... But I can't write, I am so happy! I am so
glad I am going home!" Early in December her first child was born.
Writing a few weeks later to Mrs. Stearns, she thus refers to this
event:

What a world of new sensations and emotions come with the first child! I
was quite unprepared for the rush of strange feelings--still more so for
the saddening and chastening effect. Why should t