Portland people rarely die till they're
ninety or so). She sent carriages for all who couldn't walk, and when
they all got together, the lady who described the scene to me, said it
was indescribably beautiful, all congratulating each other that they
were so far on in their pilgrimage and so near heaven! Lovely, wasn't
it? I wish I could spend the rest of my life with such people! Then she
spoke of Mrs. C.'s face during the last six months of her life, when it
had an expression so blest, so seraphic, that it was a delight to look
upon it--and how she had all the members of the ladies' prayer-meeting
come and kiss her good-bye after she was too weak to speak.

And now the children have got together again, and I must go and stay
with them till their bed-time, when, partly for the sake of the walk,
partly because they asked us, we twain are going to see the Smiths.
I rather think, my dear, that if, as you say, you could see all my
thoughts, you would drop me as you would a hot potato. You would see
many good thoughts, I won't deny that, and some loving ones; but you
would also see an abominable lot of elated, conceited, horrid ones;
self-laudation even at good planned to do, and admired before done. But
God can endure what no mortal eye could; He does not love us because we
are so lovely, but because He always loves what He pities. I fall back
upon this thought whenever I feel discouraged; I was going to say _sad_,
but that isn't the word, for I never do feel sad except when I've been
eating something I'd no business to! Good-bye, dearie.

_To the Same, New York, Dec. 3, 1868._

I think I must indulge myself, my dear, in writing to you to-night,
it being really the only thing I want to do, unless it be to lie half
asleep on the sofa. And that I can't do, for there's no sofa in the
room! The cold weather has made it agreeable to have a fire in the
dining-room grate, and this makes it a cheerful resort for the children,
especially as the long table is very convenient for their books,
map-drawing, etc. And wherever the rest are the mother must be; I
suppose that is the law of a happy family, in the winter at least.
The reason I am so tired to-night is that I have been unexpectedly to
Newark. I went, as soon as I could after breakfast, to market, and then
on a walk of over two miles to prepare myself for our sewing-circle! I
met our sexton as I was coming home, and asked him to see what ailed one
of the drawers of my desk th