t murmurings and disputings, and with the checks on our
natural eagerness that keeps us mindful of Him.

You speak of the "Higher Life people." I still hold my judgment in
suspense in regard to their doctrines, reading pretty much all they send
me, and asking daily for light from on high. I have had some talks this
summer with Dr. Stearns on these subjects, and he urges me to keep where
I am, but I try not to be too much influenced for or against doctrines I
do not, by experience, understand. Let us do the will of God (and suffer
it) and we shall learn of the doctrine.

_To Mrs. Washburn, Kauinfels, Friday Evening, (September, 1872)._

I have done nothing but tear my hair ever since you left, to think I let
you go. It would have been so easy to send you to Manchester to-morrow
morning, after a night here, and an evening over our little wood-fire,
but we were so glad to see you both, so bewildered by your sudden
appearance, that neither of us thought of it till you were gone. And
now you are still within reach, and we want you to reconsider your
resolution to turn your backs upon us after such a long, fatiguing
journey, and eating no salt with us. I did not urge your staying because
I do so hate to be urged myself. But I want you to feel what a great
pleasure it would be to us if you could make up your minds to stay at
least over Sunday, or if to-morrow and Sunday are unpleasant, just a day
or two more, to take our favorite drives with us, and give us what you
may never have a chance to give us again. I declare I shall think you
are crazy, if you don't stay a few days, now that you are here. We have
been longing to have you come, and only waiting for our place to be a
little less naked in order to lay violent hands on you; but now you have
seen the nakedness of the land, we don't care, but want you to see more
of it. This is the time, and _exactly_ the time, when we have nothing
to do but to enjoy our visitors, and next year the house may be running
over. And if you don't come now, you'll have the plague of having to
come some other time, and it is a long, formidable journey.

Why _didn't_ we just take and lock you up when we had hold of you! Well,
now I've torn out _all_ my hair, and people will be saying, "Go up, thou
bald-head." Besides--you left them bunch-berries! and do you suppose you
can go home without them? Why, it wouldn't be safe. You would be run off
the track, and scalded by steam, and broken all to piece