rendered binding. Often and often my
dear mamma said, "How I wish we knew the lady who wrote Little Susy!"
Her health, always delicate, never recovered from the shock of Pearlie's
death, and suddenly, on the morning of the first of May, the Angel of
Death darkened our dwelling with the shadow of his wings. Not long did
he linger--only two hours--and our mother had left us. She was with her
treasure and the Saviour, who said so lovingly on earth, "Come unto Me."

But words can not express such trouble as that. We have not realised it
yet. Forgive me if my letter is abrupt and confused. I have only desired
to tell you simply the simple tale--if by any chance it should make you
thank God more earnestly for the great gift He has given you--a holy
gift indeed; for can you think the lessons from "Susy," so useful and
so loved on earth, could be suddenly forgotten when the glories of heavens
opened on our darling's view? I can not myself. I think, perhaps, our
Father's home may be more like our human ones, where His love reigns,
than our wild hearts allow themselves to imagine; and I think the two,
on whose behalf I thank you now, may one day know you and thank you
themselves.

Dear "Aunt Susan," believe me to be, your unknown yet grateful friend,

LIZZIE WRAITH L----.

Mrs. Prentiss at once answered this letter, and not long after received
another from Miss L----, dated January 9, 1870, breathing the same
grateful feeling and full of interesting details. The following is an
extract from it:

I was so surprised, dear unknown friend, to receive your kind letter so
soon. Indeed, I hardly expected a reply at all. When I wrote to you, I
did not know that I was addressing a daughter of the "Edward Payson"
whose name is fragrant even on this side of the Atlantic. Had I known it
I think I should not have ventured to write--so I am glad I did not. If
you should be able to write again, and have a carte-de-visite to spare,
may I beg it, that I may form some idea of the friend, "old enough to be
my mother"? Are you little and slight, like my real mother, I wonder, or
stately and tall? I will send you a photograph of the monument which the
ladies of papa's church and congregation have erected to dear mamma, in
our beautiful cemetery, where the snowdrops will be already peeping, and
where roses bloom for ten months out of the twelve.

_Nov. 3d._--Here beginneth letter No. 3. We heard of your arrival at
Southampton by a telegram last