he world seem more than
ever empty when one has just gained the treasure of a living and darling
child?

The saddening effect in her own case was owing in part, no doubt, to
anxiety occasioned by the fatal illness of her husband's eldest sister,
to whom she was tenderly attached. The following letter was written
under the pressure of this anxiety:

_To Miss Thurston, New Bedford, Jan. 31, 1847_

I dare say the idea of _Lizzy Payson_ with a _baby_ seems quite funny
to you, as it does to many of the Portland girls; but I assure you it
doesn't seem in the least funny to me, but as natural as life and I may
add, as wonderful, almost. She is a nice little plump creature, with a
fine head of dark hair which I take some comfort in brushing round a
quill to make it curl, and a pair of intelligent eyes, either black or
blue, nobody knows which. I find the care of her very wearing, and have
cried ever so many times from fatigue and anxiety, but now I am getting
a little better and she pays me for all I do. She is a sweet, good
little thing, her chief fault being a tendency to dissipation and
sitting up late o' nights. The ladies of our church have made her a
beautiful little wardrobe, fortunately for me.

I had a lot of company all summer; my sister, her husband and boy, Mr.
Stearns and Anna, Mother Prentiss, Julia Willis, etc. I had also my last
visit from Abby, whom I little thought then I should never see again.
Our happiness in our little one has been checked by our constant anxiety
with regard to Abby's health, and it is very hard now for me to give up
one who has become in every sense a sister, and not even to have the
privilege of bidding her farewell. George went down about a week since
and will remain till all is over. I do not even know that while I write
she is yet living. She had only one wish remaining and that was to see
George, and she was quite herself the day of his arrival, as also the
day following, and able to say all she desired. Since then she has been
rather unconscious of what was passing, and I fervently trust that by
this time her sufferings are over and that she is where she longed
and prayed to be. [1] You can have no idea how alike are the emotions
occasioned by a birth and a death in the family. They seem equally
solemn to me and I am full of wonder at the mysterious new world into
which I have been thrown. I used to think that the change I saw in
young, giddy girls when they became mothers, was