To Mrs. Stearns, Portland, May 22, 1847

We have just been having a little quiet Saturday evening talk about dear Abby, as we sat here before the lighting of the lamps, and I dare say I was not the only one who wished you here too.  I came up here from my mother’s on Monday morning and have had a delightful week.  I can not begin to tell you how glad I am that we are going to make you a little visit on our way home.  I do so want to see you and your children, and show you our darling little baby that I can hardly wait till the time comes.  I suppose you have got your little folks off to bed, and so if you will take a peep into the parlor here you will see how we are all occupied—­mother in her rocking-chair, with her “specs” on, studying my Dewees on Children; George toe to toe with her, reading some old German book, and Lina [4] curled upon the sofa, asleep I fancy, while I sit in the corner and write you from dear Abby’s desk with her pen.  Mercy and Sophia watch over the cradle in the dining-room, where mother’s fifteenth grandchild reposes, unconscious of the honor of sleeping where honorables, reverends, and reverendesses have slumbered before her.  How strange it seems that my baby is one of this family—­bone of their bone, and flesh of their flesh!  I need not say how I miss dear Abby, for you will see at once that that which was months ago a reality to you, has just become such to me.  It pains me to my heart’s core to hear how she suffered.  Dear, dear Abby! how I did love her, and how thankful I am for her example to imitate and her excellencies to rejoice in!  Your uncle James Lewis [5] spent last night here, and this morning he prayed a delightful prayer, which really softened my whole soul.  I do not know when I have had my own wants so fervently expressed, or been more edified at family worship, and his allusion to Abby was very touching.

The following extracts from letters written to her husband, while he was absent in Maine, may be thought by some to go a little too much into the trifling details of daily life and feeling, but do not such details after all form no small part of the moral warp and woof of human experience?

To her husband New Bedford, August 27th.

I heard this morning that old Mrs. Kendrick was threatened with typhus fever, and went down soon after breakfast to see how she did, and, as I found Mrs. Henrietta had watched with her and was looking all worn out, I begged her to let me have her baby this afternoon, that she might have a chance to rest; so, after dinner, Sophia went down and got her.  At first she set up a lamentable scream, but we huddled on her cloak and put her with our baby into the carriage and gave them a ride.  She is a proper heavy baby, and my legs ache well with trotting round the streets after the carriage.  Think of me as often as you can and pray for me, and I will think of you and pray for you all the time.