As this is to be our last letter home, it ought to be a very brilliant one, but I am sure it won’t; and when I look back over the past two years and think how many stupid ones I have written you, I feel almost ashamed of myself.  But on the other hand I wonder I have written no duller ones, for our staying so long at a time in one place has given small chance for variety and description.  It is raining and blowing at a rate that you, who are roasting at home, can hardly conceive; we agreed yesterday that if you were blindfolded and suddenly set down here and told to guess what season of the year it was, you would judge by your feelings and the wind roaring down the chimney, that it was December.  However disagreeable this may be it is more invigorating than hot weather, and George and the children have all improved very much.  George enjoys bathing and climbing the “downs” and the children are out nearly all day when it does not rain.  You may remember that the twilight is late in England, and even the baby is often out till half-past eight or nine....  I just keep my head above water by having no cares or fatigue at night.  I feel dreadfully that I am so helpless a creature, but I believe God keeps me so for my mortification and improvement, and that I ought to be willing to lead this good-for-nothing life if He chooses.  We have had the pleasure of meeting Mr. and Mrs. Abbott here.  They have gone now to spend the winter in Paris.  Mrs. A. sent her love to you again and again, and I was very glad to meet her for your sake as well as her own, and to know Mr. A. better than I did before, and it was very pleasant to George to chat with him.  We walked together to see Shanklin Chine.  A. went with us, and Mr. Abbott amused her so on the way that she came home quite dissatisfied with her stupid papa and mamma.

We are talking of little else now but getting home, and it is a pity you could not take down the walls of our hidden souls and see the various wishes and feelings we have on the subject.  I forgot to say how glad we were that you found George Prentiss such a nice boy. [12] I always loved him for Abby’s sake and he certainly was worthy of the affection she felt for him as the most engaging child I ever knew; he is a thorough Prentiss still, it seems.  What is he going to be?  You must feel queer to have a boy in college; it is like a strange dream.  Our boys are two spunky little toads who need, or will need, all our energies to bring up.  I have quite got my hand out, M. is so good—­and hate to begin.  But good-bye, with love to mother, Mr. S. and the children.

The family embarked at Cowes on the magnificent steamship “Adriatic,” September 13th, and, after a rough voyage, reached New York on the 24th of the same month.  Old friends awaited their coming and welcomed them home again with open arms.  It was a happy day for Mrs. Prentiss, and in the abundance of its joy she forgot the anxious and solitary months through which she had just been passing.  She came back with four children instead of three; her husband was, partially at least, restored to health; and she breathed once more her native air.