her card here the
other day, and we called on her this afternoon. What a jolly old lady
she is! Of course, anybody could believe in perfection who was as fat
and well as she!

_To Mrs. Leonard, New York, April 5, 1869_

If I should send you a letter every time I send you a thought, you would
be quite overwhelmed with them. Now that Mrs. S. has gone away, and some
of my pressing cares are over, I miss you more than ever. We have had a
good deal to sadden us this winter, beginning with your sorrow, which
was also ours; and Eva P.'s death, occurring as it did in our house, was
a distressing one. She was here about a fortnight, and the first week
came down to her meals, though she kept in her room the rest of the
time. On Tuesday night of the second week she was at the tea-table, and
played a duet with A. after tea. Soon after she was taken with distress
for breath, and was never in bed again, but sat nearly double in a
chair, with one of us supporting her head. It was agonizing suffering
to witness, and the care of her was more laborious than anyone can
conceive, who did not witness or participate in it. We had at last to
have six on hand to relieve each other. She died on Saturday, after four
terrible days and nights. We knew she would die here when they first
proposed her coming, but did not like to refuse her last desire, and are
very glad we had the privilege of ministering to her last wants.... For
you I desire but one thing--a full possession of Christ. Let us turn
away our eyes from everything that does not directly exalt Him in
our affections; we are poor without Him, no matter what our worldly
advantages are; rich with Him when stripped of all besides. Still I know
you are passing through deep waters, and at times must well nigh sink.
But your loving Saviour will not let you sink, and He never loved you
so well as He does now. How often I long to fly to you in your lonely
hours! But I can not, and so I turn these longings into prayers. I hope
you pray for me, too. You could not give me anything I should value so
much, and it is a great comfort to me to know that you love me. I care
more to be loved than to be admired, don't you? I hope that by next
winter you may feel that you can come and see us; I want to see you, not
merely to write to you and get answers. I send you a picture of our nest
at Dorset. Good-bye.

_To Miss E. A. Warner, New York, April 20, 1869_

I opened your letter in the street, and was at