en came in
and I snatched him up in my lap to hug and kiss a little, and he, of
course, hit the pen and upset the inkstand and burst out crying at my
dismay. Then might have been seen a headachy woman catching the apoplexy
by leaning out of the window and scrubbing paint, sacrificing all her
nice rags in the process, and dreadfully mortified into the bargain....
Yesterday we were all caught in a pouring rain when several miles from
home on the side of the mountain, blackberrying. We each took a child
and came rolling and tearing down through the bushes and over stones,
H.'s little legs flying as little legs rarely fly. We nearly died with
laughing, and if I only knew how to draw, I could make you laugh by
giving you a picture of the scene. You will judge from this that we are
all great walkers; so we are. I take the children almost everywhere, and
they walk miles every day. Well, I will go now and get you some scraps
of pressed mosses.

* * * * *

IV.

The Death of President Lincoln. Dedication of the Church of the
Covenant. Growing Insomnia. Resolves to try the Water-cure. Its
beneficial Effects. Summer at Newburgh. Reminiscence of an Excursion
to Paltz Point. Death of her Husband's Mother. Funeral of her Nephew,
Edward Payson Hopkins.

Two events rendered the month of April, 1865, especially memorable to
Mrs. Prentiss. One was the assassination of President Lincoln on the
evening of Good Friday. She had been very ill, and her husband, on
learning the dreadful news from the morning paper, thought it advisable
to keep it from her for a while; but one of the children, going into her
chamber, burst into tears and thus betrayed the secret. Her state of
nervous prostration and her profound, affectionate admiration for Mr.
Lincoln, made the blow the most stunning by far she ever received from
any public calamity. It was such, no doubt, to tens of thousands;
indeed, to the American people. No Easter morning ever before dawned
upon them amid such a cloud of horror, or found them so bowed down with
grief. The younger generation can hardly conceive of the depth and
intensity, or the strange, unnatural character, of the impression made
upon the minds of old and young alike, by this most foul murder. [12]

The other event was of a very different character and filled her with
great joy. It was the dedication, on the last Sunday in April, of the
new church edifice, whose growth she had watched