nly refuge is faith in God, and in the certainty that
her lingering illness was more acceptable to Him than years of active
usefulness, and such extraordinary usefulness even as she was so fitted
for. I read over some of my own letters written many, many years ago;
and the sense this gave me of lost youth and vivacity and energy, was,
for a time, most painful.... I have felt for a long while greatly
discouraged and depressed, yes, weary of my life, because it seems to me
that broken down and worn out as I am, and full of faults under which I
groan, being burdened, I could not make you happy. But your last letter
comforted me a good deal. I see little for us to do but what you
suggest: to cheer each other up and wear out rather than rust out. It is
more and more clear to me, that patience is our chief duty on earth, and
that we can not rest here.

I am anxious to know what you think of the President's Proclamation. [6]
The Professor likes it. He seems able to think of little but his loss.
Even when speaking in the most cheerful way, tears fill his eyes, and
the other day putting a letter into my hands to read, he had to run
out of the room. The letter stated that fifty young persons owed their
conversion to Louisa's books; it was written some years ago. His mother
spent Saturday here. She is very bright and cheerful and full of
sly humor; he did everything to amuse her and she enjoyed her visit
amazingly. I long to see you. Letters are more and more unsatisfactory,
delusive things. M. is going to have a "party" this afternoon, and is
going to one this forenoon. The others are bright and busy as bees.
Good-bye.

A tinge of sadness is perceptible in most of her letters during this
year. Her sister's death, the fearful state of the country, protracted
sickness among her children, and her own frequent ill-turns and
increasing sense of feebleness, all conspired to produce this effect.
But in truth her heart was still as young as ever and a touch of
sympathy, or an appeal to her love of nature, instantly made it
manifest. An extract from a letter to Miss Anna Warner, dated New York,
December 16th, may serve as an instance: I wanted to write a book when
the trunk came this afternoon; that is, a book full of thanks and
exclamation marks. You could not have bought with money anything for my
Christmas present, that could give half the pleasure. I shut myself up
in my little room up-stairs (I declare I don't believe you saw that