To Miss E.A.W., New York, Nov. 17, 1868

You ask how I sleep.  I always sleep better at home than elsewhere; this is one great reason why we decided to have a home all the year round.  I have to walk four or five miles a day, which takes a good deal of time, these short days, but there is no help for it.  I do not think the time is lost when I am out of doors; I suppose Christ may go with us, does go with us, wherever we go.  But I am too eager and vehement, too anxious to be working all the time.  Why, no, I don’t think it wrong to want to be at work provided God gives us strength for work; the great thing is not to repine when He disables us.  I don’t think, my dear, that you need trouble yourself about my dying at present; it is not at all likely that I shall.  I feel as if I had got to be tested yet; this sweet peace, of which I have so much, almost startles me.  I keep asking myself whether it is not a stupendous delusion of Satan and my own wicked heart.  How I wish I could see you to-night!  There is so much one does not like to put on paper that one would love to say.

Thursday, 4 P.M.—­Well, my lunch-party is over, and my sewing society is re-organised, and before I go forth to tea, let me finish and send off this epistle.  We had the Rev. Mr. and Mrs. Washburn, of Constantinople, Dr. Chickering, and Prof, and Mrs. Smith; gave them cold turkey, cold ham, cold ice-cream and hot coffee; that was about all, for society in New York is just about reduced down to eating and drinking together, after which you go about your business.

I am re-reading Leighton on 1st Peter; I wonder if you like it as much as my John and I do!  I hope your murderous book goes on well; then you can take your rest next summer.  Now I must get ready for my long walk down and over to Ninth st., to see a tiny little woman, and English at that.  Her prayer at our meeting yesterday moved us all to tears.

To Miss Eliza A. Warner, New York, Nov. 25, 1868

Mr. Prentiss complained yesterday that no letters came, an unheard-of event in our family history, and this morning found twelve sticking in the top of the box; among them was yours, but I was just going off to my Prayer-meeting, and had to put it into my pocket and let it go too.  I am glad you sent me Mrs. Field’s letter and poem; she is a genius, and writes beautifully.  And how glad you must be to hear about your books.  I can’t imagine what better work you want than writing.  In what other way could you reach so many minds and hearts?  You must always send me such letters.  Before I forget it, let me tell you of a real Thanksgiving present we have just had; three barrels of potatoes, some apples, some dried apples, cranberries, celery, canned corn, canned strawberries, and two big chickens.