to them on their marriage, but if I may judge by my husband, there is fully as much gain as loss.  I am sure no son or brother could be more devoted to mother and sisters than he is.  Of course the baby is his perfect comfort and delight; but I need not enlarge on this point, as I suppose you have seen papas with their first babies.  A great sucking of a very small thumb admonishes me that the little lady in the crib meditates crying for supper, so I must hurry off my letter.

Abby Lewis Prentiss died on Saturday, January 30, 1847, at the age of thirty-two.  Long and wearisome sufferings, such as usually attend pulmonary disease, preceded the final struggle.  It was toward the close of a stormy winter’s day, that she gently fell asleep.  A little while before she had imagined herself in a “very beautiful region” which her tongue in vain attempted to describe, surrounded by those she loved.  Among her last half-conscious utterances was the name of her brother Seargent.  The next morning witnessed a scene of such wondrous splendor and loveliness as made the presence of Death seem almost incredible.  The snow-fall and mist and gloom had ceased; and as the sun rose, clear and resplendent, every visible object—­the earth, trees, houses—­shone as if enameled with gold and pearls and precious stones.  It was the Lord’s day; and well did the aspect of nature symbolise the glory of Him, who is the Resurrection and the Life.

On receiving the news of his sister’s death, her brother Seargent, writing to his mother, thus depicted her character: 

My heart bleeds to the core, as I sit down to mingle my tears with yours, my dear, beloved mother.  I can not realise that it is all over; that I shall never again, in this world, see our dear, dear Abby.  Gladly would I have given my own life to preserve hers.  But we have consolation, even in our extreme grief; for she was so good that we know she is now in heaven, and freed from all care, unless it be that her affectionate heart is still troubled for us, whom she loved so well.  We can dwell with satisfaction, after we have overcome the first sharpness of our grief, upon her angel-like qualities, which made her, long before she died, fit for the heaven where she now is....  You have lost the purest, noblest, and best of daughters; I, a sister, who never to my knowledge did a selfish act or uttered a selfish thought.  With the exception of yourself, dear mother, she was, of all our family circle, the best prepared to enter her Father’s house.

Some extracts from letters written at this time, will show the tenderness of Mrs. Prentiss’ sisterly love and sympathy, and give a glimpse also of her thoughts and occupations as a young mother.

To Mrs. Stearns, New Bedford, Feb. 17, 1847