Lady Augusta Stanley,
the wife of Dean Stanley, to a Miss C., through whom she received from
Miss W.'s little niece a copy of _The Story Lizzie Told_. Lady Stanley
is herself, I believe, at the head of the Society which holds the annual
Flower Show. She says in her letter that she had just returned from
Scotland, reaching home quite late in the evening. Before retiring,
however, she had read your story through. She praises it very warmly,
and wonders how anybody but a "Londoner" could have written it.--_Letter
to Mrs. P., dated New York, September, 1872._

CHAPTER XI.

IN HER HOME.

The letters in the preceding chapters give a glimpse, here and there,
of Mrs. Prentiss' home, but relate chiefly to the religious side of her
character. What was her manner of life among her children? How were her
temper and habits as a mother affected by the ardor and intensity of her
Christian feeling? A partial answer to these questions is contained in
letters written to her eldest daughter, while the latter was absent
in Europe. These letters show the natural side of her character; and
although far from reflecting all its light and beauty--no words could
do that!--they depict some of its most interesting traits. They are
frankness itself and betray not the least respect of persons; but if she
speaks her mind in them without much let or hindrance, it is always done
in the pleasantest way. In the portions selected for publication the aim
has been to let her be seen, so far as possible, just as she appeared in
her daily home-life, both in town and country.

I.

Home-life in New York.

New York, _October_ 22, 1869.

I have promised to walk to school with M. this morning, and while I am
waiting for her to get ready, will begin my letter to you. We got home
from seeing you off all tired out, and I lay on the sofa all the time
till I went to bed, except while eating my dinner, and I think papa
did pretty much the same. The moment we had done dinner, H. and Jane
appeared, carrying your bureau drawer between them, and we had a great
time over the presents you were thoughtful enough to leave behind you.
My little sacque makes me look like 500 angels instead of one, and I
am ever so glad of it, and the children were all delighted with their
things.

Well, I have escorted M. to school, come home and read the Advance, and
Hearth and Home, and it is now eleven o'clock and the door-bell has only
rung twice! Papa says you are out of