l_
to be holy. We pray for sanctification and then are afraid God will
sanctify us by stripping us of our idols and feel distressed lest we
can not have them and Him too. Reading the life of Madame Guyon gave me
great pain and anxiety, I remember. I thought that if such spiritual
darkness and trial as she was in for many years, was a necessary
attendant on eminent piety, I could not summon courage to try to live
such a life. Of all the anguish in the world there is nothing like
this--the sense of God, without the sense of nearness to Him. I wish you
would always "think aloud" when you write to me. I long to see you and
the children and Mr. S., and so does George. Poor G. has had a very hard
time of it ever since little Eddy's birth--so much care and worry and
sleeplessness and labor, and how he is ever to get any rest I don't see.
These are the times that try our souls. Let nobody condole with me about
our _bodies_. It is the struggle to be patient and gentle and cheerful,
when pressed down and worn upon and distracted, that costs us so much. I
think when I have had all my children, if there is anything left of me,
I shall write about the "Battle of Life" more eloquently than Dickens
has done. I had a pleasant dream about mother and Abby the other night.
They came together to see me and both seemed so well and so happy! I
feel _perfectly happy_ now, that my dear mother has gone home.

_To the Same, May 7, 1849._

I used to think it hard to be sick when I had dear mother hanging over
me, doing all she could for my relief, but it is harder to be denied the
poor comfort of being let alone and to have to drag one's self out of
bed to take care of a baby. Mr. Stearns must know how to pity me, for my
real sick headaches are very like his, and when racked with pain, dizzy,
faint and exhausted with suffering, starvation and sleeplessness, it is
terrible to have to walk the room with a crying child! I thought as I
lay, worn out even to childishness, obliged for the baby's sake to have
a bright sunlight streaming into the chamber, and to keep my eyes and
ears on the alert for the same cause, how still we used to think the
house must be left when my father had these headaches and how mother
busied herself all day long about him, and how nice his little plate of
hot steak used to look, as he sat up to eat it when the sickness had
gone--and how I am suffering here all alone with nobody to give me even
a look of encouragement. Georg