else we spend our time. I sew a little, and am going to sew more when my
machine comes; read a little, doze a little, and eat a good deal. The
butcher calls every morning, and so does the baker with excellent bread;
twice a week clams call at thirty cents the hundred; we get milk,
butter, and eggs without much trouble; and ice and various vegetables
without any, as Mrs. Bull sends them to us every day, with sprinklings
of fruit, pitchers of cream, herring and whatever is going. We either
sit on the beach looking and listening to the waves, every evening, or
we run in to Mrs. Bull's; or gather about our parlor-table reading. By
ten we are all off to bed. George does nothing but race back and forth
to New York on Seminary business; he has gone now. I went with him the
other day. The city looks pinched and wo-begone. We were caught in that
tornado and nearly pulled to pieces.

_27th._--You will be sorry to hear that our last summer's siege with
dysentery bids fair to be repeated. Yesterday, when the disease declared
itself, I must own that for a few hours I felt about heart-broken. My
own strength is next to nothing, and how to face such a calamity I knew
not. Ah, how much easier it is to pray daily, "Oh, Jesus Christus, wachs
in mir!" than to consent to, yea rejoice in, the terms of the grant!
Well, George went for the doctor. His quarters at this season are right
opposite; he is a German and brother of the author Auerbach. We brought
G.'s cot into our room and George and I took care of him till three
o'clock, when for the first time since we had children, I gave out and
left the poor man to get along as nurse as he best could. I can tell
you it comes hard on one's pride to resign one's office to a half-sick
husband. I think I have let the boys play too hard in the sun. I long to
have you see this pretty cottage and this beach.

_Aug. 3d._--The children are out of the doctor's hands and I do about
nothing at all. I hope you are as lazy as I am. Today I bathed, read the
paper and finished John Halifax. I wish I could write such a book!

To Miss Gilman she writes, August 10th:

We have the nicest of cottages, near the sea. I often think of you as I
sit watching the waves rush in and the bathers rushing out. I have not
yet thanked you for the hymns you sent me. The traveller's hymn sounds
like George Withers. Mr. P. borrowed a volume of his poems which
delights us both. I am glad you are asking your mother questions about