r big toe; however,
they will be nice for her little sister. The weather has been so mild
that I thought it would not be worth while to make her a cloak or
anything of that sort; but next fall I shall see that she is comfortably
clad, if she behaves as well as she did the day she was here. Oh, dear!
what a drop in the great bucket of New York misery, one such child is!
Yet somebody must look out for the drops, and I am only too thankful to
seize on this one.

In June she went, with the children, to Westport, Conn., where in rural
quiet and seclusion she passed the next three months. Here are some
extracts from her letters, written from that place:

Westport, _June 25, 1856._

We had a most comfortable time getting here; both the children enjoyed
the ride, and baby seemed unusually bright. Judge Betts was very
attentive and kind to us. Mrs. G. grows more and more pleasant every
day. We have plenty of good food, but she worries because I do not eat
more. You know I never was famous for eating meat, and country dinners
are not tempting. You can't think how we enjoy seeing the poultry fed.
There are a hundred and eighty hens and chickens, and you should see
baby throw her little hand full of corn to them. We went strawberrying
yesterday, all of us, and the way she was poked through bars and lifted
over stone-walls would have amused you. She is already quite sunburnt;
but I think she is looking sweetly. I find myself all the time peeping
out of the window, thinking every step is yours, or that every wagon
holds a letter for me.

_To Miss A. H. Woolsey, Westport, June 27._

Mr. P. enclosed your kind note in one of his own, after first reading it
himself, if you ever heard of such a man. I had to laugh all alone while
reading it, which was not a little provoking. We are having very nice
times here indeed. Breakfast at eight, dinner at half-past twelve, and
tea at half-past six, giving us an afternoon of unprecedented length
for such lounging, strawberrying or egg-hunting as happens to be on
the carpet. The air is perfectly loaded with the fragrance of clover
blossoms and fresh hay. I never saw such clover in my life; roses are
nothing in comparison. I only want an old nag and a wagon, so as to
drive a load of children about these lovely regions, and that I hope
every moment to attain. To be sure, it would be amazingly convenient
if I had a table, and didn't have to sit on the floor to write upon
a trunk; but then one can