ith which my heart is dancing and singing and making merry.
The doctor seems quite satisfied with my shoulder, and says "_it's
first-rate;_" so set your heart at rest on that point. I hope there'll
be nobody within two miles of our meeting. Suppose you stop in some out
of the way place just out of town, and let me trot out there to see you?
Oh, are you really coming?

_To G, E. S. March 4, 1844._

I must write a few lines to tell you, my dear cousin, that I am thinking
of and praying for you on your birthday. I have but one request to offer
either for you or for myself, and that is for more love to our Redeemer.
I bless God that I have no other want.... I do not know why it is, but I
never have thought so much of death and of the certainty that I, sooner
or later, must die, as within a few months past. I am not exactly
superstitious, but this daily and hourly half-presentiment that my life
will not be a long one, is singularly subduing, and seems to lay a
restraining hand upon future plans. I am not sorry, whatever may be the
event, that it is so. I dread clinging to this world and seeking my rest
in it. I am not afraid to die, or afraid that anything I love may be
taken from me; I only have this serious and thoughtful sense of death
upon my mind. You know how we have loved the Willis family, and can
imagine how we felt the death of their youngest daughter, who was dear
to everybody. And Mrs. Willis is, probably, not living. This has added
to my previous feeling on the subject, which was, perhaps, first
occasioned by the sudden and terrible loss of my poor friend, Mr.
Thatcher, a year ago this month. [6] God forbid I should ever forget the
lessons He saw I needed, and dare to feel that there is a thing upon
earth which death may not touch. Oh, in how many ways He has sought to
win my whole heart for His own!

_March 22d._--I was interrupted last night by the arrival of G. L. P.,
after his four months' absence in Mississippi, improved in health, and
in looks, and in spirits, and quite as glad to see me, I believe, as
even you, in your goodness of heart, say my lover ought to be. But I
will tell you the truth, my dear cousin, I am _afraid_ of love. There is
no other medium, save that of the happiness of loving and being loved,
by which my affections could be effectually turned from divine to
earthly things. Am I not then on dangerous ground? Yet God mercifully
shows me that it is so, and when I think how He has saved me