Sunday-school Union inadvertently.  I think that little book teaches how everything we do may be done for Christ, and I know by what little experience I have had of it, that it is a blessed, thrice blessed way to live.  A great deal is meant by the “cup of cold water,” and few of us women have great deeds to perform, and we must unite ourselves to Him by little ones.  The life of constant self-discipline God requires is a happy one; you and I, and others like us, find a wild, absorbing joy in loving and being loved; but sweet, abiding peace is the fruit of steady check on affections that must be tamed and kept under.  Is this consistent with what I have just said about growing more loving as we grow more Christlike?  Yes, it is; for that love is absolutely unselfish, it gives much and asks nothing, and there is nothing restless about it....  I have been very hard at work ever since I came here, with my darling M. as my constant, joyous comrade.  We have been busy with our flower-beds, sowing and transplanting, and half the china closet has tumbled out of doors to serve as protection from the sun.  Mr. Prentiss says we do the work of three days in one, which is true, for we certainly have performed great feats.  The night we got here we found the house lighted up, and the dining-table covered with good things.  People seem glad to see us back.  I don’t know which of my Dorset titles would strike you as most appropriate; one man calls me a “branch,” another “a child of nature,” and another “Mr. Prentiss’ woman,” with the consoling reflection that I sha’n’t rust out.

To Mrs. Smith, Dorset, August 6, 1871.

I don’t know when I have written so few letters as I have this summer.  My right hand has forgot its cunning under the paralysis, under which my heart has suffered, and which is now beginning to affect my health quite unfavorably.  It seems as if body and soul, joints and marrow, were rudely separating.  Poor George is half-distracted with the weight of the questions concerning Chicago, and I think almost anything would be better than this crucifying suspense.  But I try not to make a fuss.  Mrs. D——­ can tell you that I have said to her many times, during the last few years, that, according to the ordinary run of life, things would not long remain with us as they were; they were too good to last.

I have read and re-read “Spiritual Dislodgments,” and remember it well.  I certainly wish for such dislodgments in me and mine, if we need them.  George has got hold of a book of A.’s, which delights him, Letters of William Von Humboldt. [6] I suppose you recommended it to her.  You must make your plans to come here this summer; I don’t seem fully to have a thing till you’ve seen it.

To Mrs. Humphrey, Dorset, Aug. 8, 1871.