destroy my health.  But I wasn’t in a good frame, couldn’t write a Percy for the Observer, got a letter from some house down town, asking me to write them Susy books, got a London Daily News containing a nice notice of Little Lou, but nought consoled me. [2] In fact, I dawdled so long over H.’s lessons, which I always hear after breakfast, that I had not my usual time to pray; and that, of itself, would spoil any day.  After dinner came two of the Prentiss sisters to say that Dr. [Horatio] Smith said Eva’s one chance of getting well was to come here for change of air and scene—­would I take her and her mother?  Of course I would.  They then told me that Dr. Smith had said his brother’s case was perfectly hopeless.  This upset me.  My feet turned into ice and my head into a ball of fire.  As soon as they left, I had the spare room arranged, and then went out and walked till dark to cool off my head, but to so little purpose that I had a bad night; the news about Prof.  S. was so dreadful.  Mr. Prentiss was appalled, too.  I had to make this a day of rest—­not daring to work after such a night.  Got up at seven or so, took my bath, rung the bell for prayers at twenty minutes of eight.  After breakfast heard H.’s lessons, then read the 20th chapter of Matthew; and mused long on Christ’s coming to minister—­not to be ministered unto.  Prayed for poor Mrs. Smith and a good many weary souls, and felt a little bit better.  Then went down to Randolph’s at the request of a lady, who wanted him to sell some books she had got up for a benevolent object.  He said he’d take twelve.  Then to the Smiths, burdened with my sad secret.  Got home tired and depressed.  Tried to get to sleep and couldn’t, tried to read and couldn’t.

At last they came with the sick girl, and one look at the poor, half-fainting child, and her mother’s “Nobody in the world but you would have let us come,” made them welcome; and I have rejoiced ever since that God let them come.  One of the first things they said took my worst burden off my back; the whole story about Prof.  Smith was a dream!  Can you conceive my relief?  We had dinner.  Eva ate more than she had done for a long time.  We had a long talk with her mother after dinner; then I went up to the sick-room and stayed an hour or so; then had a call; then ran out to carry a book to a widowed lady, that I hoped would comfort her; then home, and with Eva till tea-time.  Then had some comfort in laying all these cares and interests in those loving Arms that are always so ready to take them in.  I enjoy praying in the morning best, however—­perhaps because less tired; but sometimes I think it is owing to a sort of night-preparation for it; I mean, in the wakeful times of night and early morning.