f a wish could restore
her to us. I only earnestly long to be fitting, day by day, to meet
her again in heaven. God has mingled many great mercies with this
affliction, and I do not know that I ever in my life so felt the delight
of praying to and thanking Him. When I begin to pray I have so much to
thank Him for, that I hardly know how to stop. I have always thought
I would not for the universe be left unchastised--and now I feel the
smart, I still can say so. Lotty's visit was a great comfort and service
to me, but I was very selfish in talking to her so much about my own
loss, while she was so great a sufferer under hers. Since she left
my little boy has been worse than ever and pined away last week very
rapidly. You can form no idea, by any description of his sufferings, of
what the dear little creature has undergone since his birth. I feel a
perfect longing to see Portland and mother's many dear friends there,
especially your mother and a few like her. I am very tired as I have
written a great part of this with baby in my lap--so I can write no
more.

_To Mrs. Stearns, Feb. 17, 1849._

Dear little Eddy has found life altogether unkind thus far, and I have
had many hours of heartache on his account but I hope he may weather
the storm and come out safely yet. The doctor examined him all over
yesterday, particularly his head, and said he could not make him out a
_sick_ child, but that he thought his want of flesh owing partly to
his sufferings but more to the great loss of sleep occasioned by his
sufferings. Instead of sleeping twelve hours out of the twenty-four, he
sleeps but about seven and that by means of laudanum. Isn't it a mercy
that I have been able to bear so well the fatigue and care and anxiety
of these four hard months? I feel that I have nothing to complain of,
and a _great deal_ to be thankful for. On the whole, notwithstanding my
grief about my dear mother's loss, and my perplexity and distress about
baby, I have had as much real happiness this winter as it is possible
for one to glean in such unfavorable circumstances. _By far_ the
greatest trial I have to contend with, is that of losing all power
to control my time. A little room all of my own, and a regular hour,
morning and night, all of my own would enable me, I think, to say,
"_Now_ let life do its worst!"

I am no stranger, I assure you, to the misgivings you describe in your
last letter; I think them the result of the _wish_ without the _wil