Love, Hope and Patience, these must be thy graces,
  And in thine own heart let them first keep school.

To Miss Mary B. Shipman, Westport, August 11.

Dr. Buck, who has seen her twice since we came here, thinks baby wonderfully improved, and says every day she lives increases her chance of life.  I have been exceedingly encouraged by all he has said, and feel a great load off my heart.  Last Friday, on fifteen minutes’ notice, I packed up and went home, taking nurse and biddies, of course.  I was so restless and so perfectly possessed to go to meet George, that I could not help it.  We went in the six o’clock train, as it was after five when I was “taken” with the fit that started me off; got home in a soft rain, and to our great surprise and delight found G. there, he having got homesick at Saratoga, and just rushed to New York on his way here.  We had a great rejoicing together, you may depend, and I had a charming visit of nearly three days.  We got back on Monday night, rather tired, but none of us at all the worse for the expedition.  Mr. P. sits here reading the Tribune, and A. is reading “Fremont’s Life.”  She is as brown as an Indian and about as wild.

A few passages from her journal will also throw light upon this period: 

June 30th.—­I am finding this solitude and leisure very sweet and precious; God grant it may bear the rich and abundant fruit it ought to do!  Communion with Him is such a blessing, here at home in my own room, and out in the silent woods and on the wayside.  Saturday, especially, I had a long walk full of blissful thoughts of Him whom I do believe I love—­oh, that I loved Him better!—­and in the evening Mrs. Buck came and we had some very sweet beginnings of what will, I trust, ripen into most profitable Christian communion.  My heart delights in the society of those who love Him.  Yesterday I had a more near access to God in prayer than usual, so that during the whole service at church I could hardly repress tears of joy and gratitude.

July 7th.—­I do trust God’s blessed, blessed Spirit is dealing faithfully with my soul—­searching and sifting it, revealing it somewhat to itself and preparing it for the indwelling of Christ.  This I do heartily desire.  Oh, God! search me and know me, and show me my own guilty, poor, meagre soul, that I may turn from it, humbled and ashamed and penitent, to my blessed Saviour.  How very, very thankful I feel for this seclusion and leisure; this quiet room where I can seek my God and pray and praise, unseen by any human eye—­and which sometimes seems like the very gate of heaven.

July 23d.—­This is my dear little baby’s birthday.  I was not able to sleep last night at all, but at last got up and prayed specially for her.  God has spared her two years; I can hardly believe it!  Precious years of discipline they have been, for which I do thank Him.  I have prayed much for her to-day, and with some faith, that if her life is spared it will be for His glory.  How far rather would I let her go this moment, than grow up without loving Him!  Precious little creature!