four, written since we had parted on Saturday afternoon.  She used to complain now and then, that I wrote her only one to four or five of hers to me.  In the pleasant summer afternoons we loved to take long walks together.  One was down by the shore behind the eastern promenade.  Here we would find a sheltered nook, and with our backs to the world and our faces toward the islands and the ocean, would sit in “rapt enjoyment” of the scene, speaking scarcely a word, until one or the other exclaimed with a long-drawn sigh:  “Well, it is time for us to go home.”

Another of our places of resort was the old cemetery on Congress street, which in those days was very retired.  Our favorite spot here was the summit of a tomb, which stood on the highest point in the grounds.  It was the old style of tomb—­a broad marble slab, supported by six small stone pillars on a stone foundation, and surrounded by two steps raised above the soil.  It was a very quiet retreat.  We could hear the distant hum of the city and at the same time enjoy a view of the water and shipping, as the land sloped down toward the harbor.  I remember well that one dark spring day, as we sat there cuddled up under the broad slab, Lizzy gave me an account of a book she had just been reading.  It was the Memoir of Miss Susanna Anthony, by old Dr. Hopkins, of Newport.  She told me what a good and holy woman Miss Anthony was, how much she suffered and how beautifully she bore her sufferings.  My sympathy was strongly excited and I exclaimed, “I do not see how it is right for God, who can control all things, to permit such suffering!” Lizzy replied very sweetly, “Well, Carrie, we can’t understand it, but I have been thinking that this might be God’s way of preparing His children for very high degrees of service on earth, or happiness in heaven.”  I was deeply impressed with this remark; somehow it seemed to stand by me, and I think it was a corner-stone of her faith.

This summer—­that of 1833—­her mother fitted up for her exclusive use a small room called the “Blue Room,” where she had all her books and treasures—­among them a writing desk which had been her father’s.  Here all her leisure hours were spent.  It was my privilege to be admitted to this sanctuary, and many pleasant hours we passed together there.  I think Elizabeth was always religious.  She knew a great deal then about the Bible and often talked with me of divine things.  She seemed to feel a deep interest in my spiritual welfare.  She loved to share with me her favorite books.  To her I was indebted for my acquaintance with George Herbert, and with Wordsworth.  She induced me to read “Owen on the 133d Psalm,” and Flavel’s “Fountain of Life.”  In 1834 we both began to attend the Free street Seminary, of which the Rev. Solomon Adams was then Principal.  Her sister had become assistant teacher with him.  Our desks adjoined each other and we were together a great deal.  She was an admirable scholar, very studious, prompt