now, doctor, I want you to do something for my wife,” relating to him her ill-turn on Monday.  “Certainly (the doctor replied) she needs some arsenicum,” which he gave her, promising to call and see us on the next Monday.  As we rode on Dr. Vincent suggested, laughingly, what a strange story might be based upon Dr. W.’s prescription.  “I might report, for example, that I myself saw the author of ‘Stepping Heavenward’ eating arsenic!” She joined heartily in the laugh and during all the rest of the drive conversed with great animation.  She related several anecdotes of her early life, talked with admiration of the writings and genius of Mrs. Stowe—­one Of whose New England stories she had just been reading—­and seemed exactly like herself.  Upon reaching the brook in East Rupert and starting with Dr. Vincent for the glen, I said to her, “Now don’t walk off out of sight, where I can’t see you when we come back.”  “Oh yes, I shall,” she replied in her pleasant way.

“After we were left alone that Saturday morning (Hatty writes) Mrs. Prentiss gathered quite a bunch of the wild ageratum, and then dug up the roots of three wild clematis vines with her scissors.  She then called my attention to the thimbleberry bushes along the edge of the brook, admiring the foliage of the plant and expressing the determination to have one or more in her garden next year.”

On coming down from the glen I found her sitting on the ground near the brook.  Taking her by the hand—­for she seemed very tired—­I helped her to rise and walked back with her toward the carriage.  Just before reaching the road she saw some clusters of clematis on the side of the brook, which at her desire I gathered.  It was the last service of the kind ever performed for her, and I am so thankful that no hands but mine were privileged to perform it!  During the drive home she said almost nothing and was, evidently, feeling very much wearied.  We returned by the West road and on passing in at our gate I observed that Dr. Wyman’s gig was still in front of Miss Kent’s.  “Why, Lizzy, Dr. Wyman is still here,” said I.  “Then, I would like to see him now rather than wait till Monday,” she said, to my surprise.  I went immediately and asked him to call.  It was, I think, between eleven and twelve o’clock.  He came very soon and she received him in the parlor.  I noticed at once that she was extremely nervous and agitated, while explaining to him her symptoms; and not being able to recall some point, she remarked that her mind had been much confused all the week.  Just then she rose hastily, excused herself, and went up to her room. “She is very ill (said the doctor, turning to me) and must go to bed instantly.”  While he was preparing her medicines Judge M. and family from New York, who were sojourning at Manchester, called; but learning of her illness, soon left.  Later in the day I told her who had called and how much Mrs. M. and the young ladies admired her flowers, especially the portulacas.  She seemed pleased and said to me, “You had better, then, prepare two little boxes of portulacas and send them over to Mrs. M. to keep in her windows while she stays at the Equinox House.”  A few days after her death I did so and received a touching note of thanks from Mrs. M.