odness to me and mine. I send my blessing to the girls. I have written
to B----. God bless you all, my kind friends, and make life and its
vicissitudes minister to your happiness hereafter.

You will hear of me, dear Granny, for the girls will write to me, and I
shall answer them, and you will remember, whenever you think of me, how
gratefully and affectionately I must

Ever remain yours,
FANNY BUTLER.

[Lady Dacre saw much trouble in store for me in my intemperate
expression of feeling on the subject of slavery in America, and
repeatedly warned me with affectionate solicitude to moderate, if
not my opinions, the vehement proclamation of them. She was wise and
right, as well as kind in her advice.]

[Extract from a letter of Miss Sedgwick's.]

STOCKBRIDGE, October 26th, 1842.

You have no doubt heard and lamented the death of our dear friend, Dr.
Channing. Dead he is not; he lives, and will live in the widespreading
life he has communicated. He passed the summer at Lenox, occupying with
his family your rooms at the hotel. We passed some hours of every day
together. He enjoyed our lovely hill country with the freshness of
youth, his health was invigorated, and his mind freer, and his spirits
more buoyant than I ever knew them; he endured more fatigue than he had
been able to encounter since he travelled in Switzerland fifteen years
ago. His affectionateness, purity, simplicity--a simplicity so perfect
that it seemed divine--surrounded his greatness with an atmosphere of
light and beauty. His life has been a most prosperous one, no storms
without, and a heavenly calm within. His last work in his office was a
discourse which he delivered in our village church on the 1st of August,
on the emancipation of the slaves in the British West Indies. I shall
send it to you, and pray mark the prophetic invocation with which it
concludes. You should have seen the inspired expression of his
intellectual brow, and the earnest, spiritual look that seemed to
penetrate the clouds that hang over the eternal world and to reflect its
light. On the Sundays of his sojourn with us he had domestic worship in
our houses, and his last service was in that apartment where his beloved
friend Follen officiated....

Eliza Follen is recovering the elasticity of her mind. Time can,