Later.—­Of course, my letters to A. are virtually to you, too, as far as you can be interested in the little details of which they are made up.  Randolph showed George a letter about Katy, which he says beats anything we have heard yet, which is saying a good deal.  One lady said Earnest was exactly like her husband, another that he was painfully so; indeed, many sore hearts are making such confessions.  So I begin to think there is even more sorrowfulness and unrest in the world than I thought there was.  You would get sick unto death of the book if I should tell a quarter of what we hear about it, good and bad.  It quite refreshed me to hear that a young lady wanted to punch me.

Craig’s Life is very touching.  His delight in Christ and in close fellowship with Him is beautiful; but it is painful to see that dying man wandering about Europe alone, when he ought to have been breathing out his life in the arms he loved so well.  How did poor Mrs. C. live through the week of suspense that followed the telegram announcing his illness? for one must love such a man very deeply, I think.  Well, he doesn’t care now where he died or when, and he has gone where he belonged.  I miss you all ever so much, and George keeps up one constant howl for your husband.  It is a mystery to me what any of you find in my letters, they do seem so flat to me.  What fun it would be if you would all write me a round letter!  I would write a rouser for it.  Lots of love.

The Rev. Wheelock Craig, whose Life is referred to by Mrs. Prentiss in the preceding letter, was her husband’s successor in the pastorate of the South Trinitarian church, New Bedford. [9]

* * * * *

V.

Recollections by Mrs. Henry B. Smith.

The following Recollections from the pen of Mrs. Smith may fitly close the present chapter: 

NORTHAMPTON, January 2, 1879.

MY DEAR DR. PRENTISS:—­I have been trying this beautiful snowy day, which shuts us in to our own thoughts, to recall some of my impressions of your dear wife, but I find it very difficult; there was such variety to her, and so much of her, and the things which were most characteristic are so hard to be described.

I read “Stepping Heavenward” in MS. before we went to Europe in 1869.  I remember she used to say that I was “Katy’s Aunt,” because we talked her over with so much interest.  She sent me a copy to Heidelberg, where I began at once translating it into German as my regular exercise.  I was delighted to give my copy to Mrs. Prof.  K. in Leipsic, as the American story which I was willing to have her translate into German, as she had asked for one.  There is no need of telling you about the enthusiasm which the book created.  Women everywhere said, “It seems to be myself that I am reading about”; and the feeling that they, too, with all their imperfections, might be