the church beautifully with my flowers, etc.,
Mr. Palmer and Mr. Lawrence lending their aid. Your father is reading
about Hans Andersen; you must read the article in the Living Age, No.
1,631; it is ever so funny.

I had such a queer dream last night. I dreamed that Maggie plagued us so
that your father went to New York and brought back _two_ cooks. I said I
only wanted one. "Oh, but these are so rare," he said; "come out and see
them." So he led me into the kitchen, and there sat at the table, eating
dinner very solemnly, two _ostriches_! Now what that dream was made of I
can not imagine. Now I must go to bed, pretty tired. When you are lonely
and blue, think how we all love you. Goodnight, dear old fellow.

_Sept. 21st._--It cuts me to the heart, my precious boy, that your
college life begins under such a shadow. But I hope you know where to
go in both loneliness and trouble. You may get a telegram before this
reaches you; if you do not you had better pack your valise and have it
ready for you to come at a minute's warning. The doctor gives us hardly
a hope that M. will live; she may drop away at any moment. While she
does live you are better off at Princeton; but when she is gone we
shall all want to be together. We shall have her buried here in Dorset;
otherwise I never should want to come here again. A. said this was her
day to write you, but she had no heart to do it. The only thing I can do
while M. is asleep, is to write letters about her. Good-night, dear boy.

_22d_--The doctor was here from eight to nine last night and said she
would suffer little more and sleep her life away. _She_ says she is
nicely and the nurse says so. Your father and I have had a good cry this
morning, which has done us no little service. Dear boy, this is a bad
letter for you, but I have done the best I can.

_To Mrs. George Payson, New York, Oct. 31, 1875_

I hope you received the postal announcing our safe arrival home. I have
been wanting to answer your last letter, but now that the awful strain
is over I begin to flag, am tired and lame and sore, and any exertion is
an effort. But after all the dismal letters I have had to write, I want
to tell you what a delightful day yesterday was to us all; G. home from
Princeton, all six of us at the table at once, "eating our meat with
gladness"; the pleasantest _family_ day of our lives. M.'s recovery
during the last week has been little short of miraculous. We got her
home, after makin