A tinge of sadness is perceptible in most of her letters during this year.  Her sister’s death, the fearful state of the country, protracted sickness among her children, and her own frequent ill-turns and increasing sense of feebleness, all conspired to produce this effect.  But in truth her heart was still as young as ever and a touch of sympathy, or an appeal to her love of nature, instantly made it manifest.  An extract from a letter to Miss Anna Warner, dated New York, December 16th, may serve as an instance:  I wanted to write a book when the trunk came this afternoon; that is, a book full of thanks and exclamation marks.  You could not have bought with money anything for my Christmas present, that could give half the pleasure.  I shut myself up in my little room up-stairs (I declare I don’t believe you saw that room! did you?), and there I spread out my mosses and my twigs and my cones and my leaves and admired them till I had to go out and walk to compose myself.  Then the children came home and they all admired too, and among us we upset my big work-basket and my little work-basket, and didn’t any of us care.  My only fear is that with all you had to do you did too much for me.  Those little red moss cups are too lovely! and as to all those leaves how I shall leaf out!  G. asked me who sent me all those beautiful things.  “Miss Warner,” quoth I absently.  “Didn’t Miss Anna send any of them?” he exclaimed.  So you see you twain do not pass as one flesh here.  I have read all the “Books of Blessing” [7] save Gertrude and her Cat—­but though I like them all very much, my favorite is still “The Prince in Disguise.”  If you come across a little book called “Earnest,” [8] published by Randolph, do read it.  It is one of the few real books and ought to do good.  I have outdone myself in picture-frames since you left.  I got a pair of nippers and some wire, which were of great use in the operation.  I am now busy on Mr. Bull, for Mr. Prentiss’ study.

To one of her sisters-in-law she wrote, under the same date: 

I do not know as I ever was so discouraged about my health as I have been this fall.  Sometimes I think my constitution is quite broken down, and that I never shall be good for anything again.  However, I do not worry one way or the other but try to be as patient as I can.  I have been a good deal better for some days, and if you could see our house you would not believe a word about my not being well, and would know my saying so was all a sham.  To tell the truth, it does look like a garden, and when I am sick I like to lie and look at what I did when I wasn’t; my wreaths, and my crosses, and my vines, and my toadstools, and other fixins.  Yesterday I made a bonnet of which I am justly proud; to-morrow I expect to go into mosses and twigs, of which Miss Anna Warner has just sent me a lot.  She and her sister were here about a fortnight.  They grow good so fast that there is no keeping track of them.