We came here on a hospitable invitation to spend a week in the Centennial grounds, and yesterday passed several hours in wandering about, bewildered and amazed at the hosts of things we saw, and the host we didn’t see.  We found ourselves totally ignorant of Norway, for instance, whose contributions are full of artistic grace and beauty; and I suppose we shall go on making similar discoveries about other nations.  As to the thirty-two art galleries we have only glanced at them.  What interested me most was groups of Norwegians, Lapps and other Northerners, so life-like that they were repeatedly addressed by visitors—­wonderful reproductions.  The extent of this Exhibition is simply beyond description.  The only way to get any conception of it is to make a railroad circuit of the grounds.

I have had a very busy winter; held a Bible-reading once a week, written a book, painted lots of pictures to give away, and really need rest, only I hate rest....  We find out where our hearts really are when we get these fancied invitations homeward.  I look upon Christians who are, at such times, reluctant to go, with unfeigned amazement.  The spectacle, too often seen, of shrinking from the presence of Christ, is one I can not begin to understand.  I should think it would have been a terrible disappointment to you to get so far on and then have to come back; but we can be made willing for anything.

I am glad you liked Griselda; I knew you would. [8]

The extreme heat and her unusually enfeebled state rendered the summer a very trying one; but its discomfort was in a measure relieved by the extraordinary loveliness of the Dorset scenery this season.  There was much in this scenery to remind her of Chateau d’Oex, where she had passed such happy weeks in the summer and autumn of 1858.  If not marked by any very grand features, it is pleasing in the highest degree.  In certain states of the atmosphere the entire landscape—­Mt.  Equinox, Sunset Mountain, Owl’s Head, Green Peak, together with the intervening hills, and the whole valley—­becomes transfigured with ever-varying forms of light and shade.  At such times she thought it unsurpassed by anything of the kind she had ever witnessed, even in Switzerland.  The finest parts of this enchanting scene were the play of the cloud-shadows, running like wild horses across the mountains, and the wonderful sunsets; and both were in full view from the windows of her “den.”  Her eyes never grew weary of feasting upon them.  The cloud-shadows, in particular, are much admired by all lovers of nature. [9]

To Mrs. George Payson, Kauinfels, July 8, 1876.