Just as her line of thought would often lie absorbingly in some one direction for quite a period of time, so her fun ran “in streaks,” as she would have been likely to express it.  One winter she amused herself and her friends by a great number of charades and enigmas, many of which I copied and still possess.  They were dashed off with an ease and rapidity quite remarkable.  And I believe the same thing was true of most of her books.  I have watched her when she was writing some funny piece of rhyme, and as her pen literally flew over the paper, I could hardly believe that she was actually composing as she wrote.  One day two young girls were translating one of Heine’s shorter poems.  They had agreed to send their several versions to an absent friend, who on his part was to return his own to them.  Mrs. Prentiss entered heartily into the plan and in an hour had written as many as a dozen translations, all in English rhyme and differing entirely one from the other.  The stimulating effect on the genius of her companions was such that over thirty translations were produced in that one afternoon.

In thinking of the ease with which Mrs. Prentiss would suddenly turn from grave to gay and the reverse, I often recall her answer when I one day remarked on this trait in her.

“Yes, I have in me two very different natures.  Did you ever hear the story of the dog, who by an accident was cut in two, and was joined together by a wonderful healing salve?  Unfortunately, the pieces were not put together properly, so two of his legs stood up in the air.  At first his master thought it a great misfortune, but he found that the dog, when a little accustomed to his strange new form, would run until tired on two legs, and then by turning himself over he would have a fresh unused pair to start with, and so he did double duty!  I am like that dog.  When I am tired of running on one nature, I can turn over and run on the other, and it rests me.” [4]

I want to spend a few minutes of this my birthday in talking with you in reply to your letter.

To a Christian Friend, New York, Oct. 26, 1873.

I want to tell you how I love you, because you “learn your lessons” so easily, and how thankful I am that in your great trials and afflictions you have been enabled to glorify God.  How small trouble is when set over against that!  Is not Christ enough for a human soul?  Does it really need anything else for its happiness?  You will remember that when Madame Guyon was not only homeless, but deprived of her liberty, she was perfectly happy.  “A little bird am I.” [5] It seems to me that when God takes away our earthly joys and props, He gives Himself most generously; and is there any joy on earth to be compared for a moment with such a gift?...  My husband has just come in and described the scene at Mrs. De Witt’s funeral, [6] when her husband said, Good-bye, dear wife, you have been my greatest blessing next to Christ; and he