end will be the more joyful for all that
saddened the way.

I shall always let you know if anything of special interest occurs in
the church or among ourselves. After loving you so many years, I am
not likely to forget you now. The addresses at Mrs. S.'s funeral will
probably be published, and we will send you a copy. Mr. P. is bearing
up bravely, but feels the listlessness of which I spoke, and finds
sermonising hard work. He joins me in love to you. Do write often.

_To Miss Eliza A. Warner, New York, Feb. 16, 1869._

On coming home from church on Sunday afternoon I found one of the
Brooklyn family waiting to tell us that another of the girls was very
ill, that they were all worn out and nearly frantic, and asking if she
might be brought here to be put under the care of some German doctor,
as Dr. Smith had given her up. In the midst of my sorrow for the poor
mother, I thought of myself. How could I, who had not been allowed to
invite Miss Lyman here, undertake this terrible care? You know what a
fearful disease it is--how many convulsions they have; but you don't
know the harm it did me just seeing poor Jennie P. in one. Yesterday I
tried hard to let God manage it, but I know I wished He would manage it
so as to spare me; it takes so little to pull me down, and so little to
destroy my health. But I wasn't in a good frame, couldn't write a Percy
for the Observer, got a letter from some house down town, asking me to
write them Susy books, got a London Daily News containing a nice notice
of Little Lou, but nought consoled me. [2] In fact, I dawdled so long
over H.'s lessons, which I always hear after breakfast, that I had not
my usual time to pray; and that, of itself, would spoil any day. After
dinner came two of the Prentiss sisters to say that Dr. [Horatio] Smith
said Eva's one chance of getting well was to come here for change of air
and scene--would I take her and her mother? Of course I would. They
then told me that Dr. Smith had said his brother's case was perfectly
hopeless. This upset me. My feet turned into ice and my head into a ball
of fire. As soon as they left, I had the spare room arranged, and then
went out and walked till dark to cool off my head, but to so little
purpose that I had a bad night; the news about Prof. S. was so dreadful.
Mr. Prentiss was appalled, too. I had to make this a day of rest--not
daring to work after such a night. Got up at seven or so, took my bath,
rung the bell for prayers a