I came home half frozen from my early walk this morning, to get warm not only at the fire, but at your letter, which I found awaiting me.  I am glad if you got anything out of your visit here.  I rather think you and I shall “rattle on” together after we get to heaven....  You say, “How skilfully God does fashion our crosses for us!” Yes, He does.  And for my part, I don’t want to rest and be happy without crosses—­for I can’t do without them.  People who set themselves up to be pastors and teachers must “learn in suffering” what they teach in sermon and book.  I felt a good deal reproved for making so much of mine, however, by my further visits to the house of mourning of which we spoke to you.  The little boy died early on the next day, and before his funeral his poor mother, neglected by everybody else, found it some comfort to get into my arms and cry there.  It made no difference that twenty years had passed since I had had a sorrow akin to hers; we mothers may cease to grieve, outwardly, but we never forget what has gone out of our sight, or ever grow unsympathetic because time has soothed and quieted us.  But I need not say this to you.  This was on Saturday; all day Monday I was there watching a most lovely little girl, about six years old, writhing in agony; she died early next morning.  The next eldest has been in a critical state, but will probably recover a certain degree of health, but as a helpless cripple.  Well, I felt that death alone was inexorable—­other enemies we may hope and pray and fight against—­and that while my children lived, I need not despair.  The tax on my sympathies in the case of those half-distracted parents has been terrible, and yet I wouldn’t accept a cold heart if I had the offer of it.

To give you another side of my life, let me tell you of a pleasant dinner party one night last week, when we met Gov. and Mrs. C——­, of Massachusetts, and I fell in love with her then and there....  Well, this is a queer world, full of queer things and queer people.  Will the next one be more commonplace?  I know not.  Good-bye.

Word has come from that afflicted household that the grandfather has died suddenly of heart disease.  His wife died a few weeks ago.  Mr. Prentiss saw him on Saturday in vigorous health.

To Miss Rebecca F. Morse, New York, March 5,1872.

Can you tell me where the blotting-pads can be obtained?  I have got into a hospital of spines; in other words, of people who can only write lying on their backs, one of them an authoress, and I think it would be a mercy to them if I could furnish them with the means of writing with more ease than they do now.  I was sorry you could not come last Friday, and hope you will be able to join us Saturday, when the club meets here....  How you would have enjoyed yesterday afternoon with me!  I went to call on a lady from Vermont, who is here for spinal treatment, and found in her room another of the patients.  Two such