18th.—­I have been writing notes of thanksgiving, each of which dear papa reads through rose-colored spectacles and says, “You do beat all!” I have enjoyed writing them, instead of finding it a bore.  We shall be curious to hear how you celebrated our wedding-day.  Well, good-bye, old child.  I shall begin another letter to-day, as like as not.

Monday, April 25th.—­Friday morning, in the midst of my plans for helping Aunt E. shop, came a message from Mrs. B. that she wanted to see me.  I had not expected to see her again, and of course was glad to go.  She had altered so that I should not have known her, and it was hard to hear what she had to say, she is so feeble.  She went back to the first time she saw me, told me what I had on, and how her heart was knitted to me.  She then spoke of her approaching death; said she had no ecstasies, no revelations, but had been in perfect peace, suffering agonies of pain, yet not one pain too many.  I asked her if she had any parting counsel to give me.  “No, not a word; I only wanted to see your sunny face once more, and tell you what a comfort you have been to me in this sickness.”  This all came at intervals, she was so weak.  She afterward said, “I feel as if I never was acquainted with Christ till now.  I tell my sons to become INTIMATELY ACQUAINTED with Him.”  I asked her if she took pleasure in thinking of meeting friends in heaven.  With a sweet, somewhat comical smile, she said, “No, I haven’t got so far as that.  I think only of meeting Christ.”  “For all that,” I said, “you will soon see my father and mother and other kindred souls.”  Her face lighted up again.  “Why, so I shall!” Her lips were growing white with pain while this bright smile was on them, and I came away, though I should gladly have listened to her by the hour, everything was so natural, sound, and-heavenly.  Shopping after it did not prove particularly congenial; but we must shop, as well as die.

April 29th.—­Your first Dresden letter has just come; yes, it was long enough, though you did not tell us how the cat did.  You speak as if you were going to Paris, but papa is positive you are not.  Yesterday was a lovely day, though very hot.  Dr. Adams came and drove papa to the Park.  Late in the afternoon I went to see Mrs. G., the woman whose husband is in jail.  She is usually all in a muss, but this time was as nice as could be, the floor clean and everything in order.  The baby, a year old, had learned to walk since I was last there, and came and planted herself in front of me, and stared at me out of two great bright eyes most of the time.  I had a nice visit, as Mrs. G. seems to be making a good use of her troubles.  After I got home, Dr. and Mrs. C. arrived and we had dinner and a tremendous thunder shower, after which he went out to make forty-’leven calls.  He was pleased to say that he wanted his wife to see the lovely family picture we make!  It is a glum, cold, lowering morning, but the C.’s are going to see the Frenches at West Point, and Miss Lyman at Vassar.