Friday, Aug.9th—­A severe thunder-storm had set in early last night and continued at short intervals throughout the day.  She was very anxious that Dr. Vincent should enjoy his visit, and on his account was disturbed by the weather; otherwise, a thunder-storm seemed to exhilarate her, as is said to have been the case with her father.  She spent most of Friday in her “den,” finishing a little picture and chatting from time to time with the girls who were busy in the adjoining room.  Dr. Vincent and I sat a part of the forenoon on the piazza under her window and whiled away the time, he in telling and I in listening to any number of amusing stories.  She called the attention of M. and H. to our unclerical behavior:  “Just hear those doctors of divinity giggling like two schoolgirls!” But nobody enjoyed more an amusing story, or told one with more zest than she did herself.

I forget whether it was on Friday, or an earlier day, that she showed me a remarkable letter she had received, during my absence at the sea-side, from London.  It was written by a young wife and mother nearly related to two of the most honored families of England, and sought her counsel in reference to certain questions of duty that had grown out of special domestic trials.  “Stepping Heavenward,” the writer said, had formed an era in her religious life; she had read it through from fifty to sixty times; it had its place by the side of her Bible; and no words could express the good it had done her, or the comfort she had derived from its pages.  “The Home at Greylock” had also been of great help to her as a wife and mother; and she could not but hope that one whose books had been such a blessing to her, might be able to render her still greater and more direct aid by personal counsel.  The letter, which was beautifully written and was full of the most grateful feelings, appealed very strongly to her sympathy.  But it was never answered.

Saturday, Aug. 10th—­She had a tolerable night, but on coming down to breakfast said, in reply to Dr. Vincent’s question, How she felt?  “I feel like bursting out crying.”  After prayers, however, when the plans for the day were arranged and a drive to Hager brook—­a picturesque mountain glen and waterfall—­was made the order of the forenoon, she proposed to go with us.  I had almost feared to suggest it, and yet was greatly relieved to find that she felt able to take the ride.  It was decided, therefore, that she, Hatty K., Dr. Vincent and I should form the party.  As we drove toward the village I noticed that Dr. Wyman was just stopping at our next neighbor’s.  Dr. Hemenway, our old physician, had removed to St. Paul’s, and Dr. W. had taken his place.  I was rejoiced to see him, both on her account and my own.  I had not been well myself during the week, and although I had repeatedly proposed to call in the doctor for her, she stoutly refused.  So, after getting a prescription for myself, I said, “And