But neither anxiety about her child, household cares, or any work she had in hand, so absorbed her thoughts as to render her insensible to the sorrows and trials of others.  On the contrary, they served rather to call forth and intensify her kindly sympathies.  A single case will illustrate this.  A poor little girl—­one of those waifs of humanity in which a great city abounds—­had been commended to her by a friend.  In a letter to this friend, dated March 17, 1856, she writes: 

That little girl came, petticoat and all; we gave her some breakfast, and I then went down with her to Avenue A. On the way, she told me that you gave her some money.  To my great sorrow we found, on reaching the school, that they could not take another one, as they were already overflowing.  As we came out, I saw that the poor little soul was just ready to burst into tears, and said to her “Now you’re disappointed, I know!” whereupon she actually looked up into my face and smiled.  You know I was afraid I never should make her smile, she looked so forlorn.  I brought her home to get some books, as she said she could read, and she is to come again to-morrow.  A lady to whom I told the whole story, sent me some stockings that would about go on to her 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.