eight months with a lady whose only daughter was
blind from her birth. Clara loved to lead her out for a walk, and read
to her at home; no pleasure was complete unless shared with her blind
friend, who was younger than herself, and whose life she could brighten
by her willingness to devote her unoccupied time to her service. Dear
Lorelle, we all loved her for her goodness, and pitied her for her
infirmity. The boarders and others at her home sent flowers too. Her
mother arranged a green vine and flowers around her face and in her
hand. When she had finished, she said, "That is the last we can do for
you, Clara; I know she was so fond of flowers, she would be pleased if
she could see them." I cared not for the flowers, I only knew that
loving heart was stilled in death, and I was left alone; with an effort,
I said, "Lorelle will never know a truer friend than she who lies here."
My tears unbidden flow; why do I go back in memory to those sorrowful
days? I know she is happy now. Let me draw the veil of charity over the
past with all its troubles, remembering only the many acts of kindness
done for us by our friends at that time.

It is this waiting so long a prisoner, begging to be liberated. My hands
will not remain folded or my brain idle. I must write again of poor Miss
Snow. I ventured into her room, feeling anxious to help her by coaxing
her into a better frame of mind. She is wasted to a shadow; I am sure if
she had any food to tempt her to eat she would grow stronger; some nice
bread and milk at bed time would help her to sleep. I soothed her as I
would a child in trouble, until she ceased her raving, and then
questioned her to discover the cause of her disease. She is a
well-educated, intelligent lady. In her ravings she often says she is
the only lady in the hall, and seems to have a temper of her own, which
has been made more than violent by her stay in this ward. She is very
fond of drawing small pencil sketches, and works at them late at night,
which I think is certainly injurious. I conclude she is the victim of
late hours and fancy work; she acknowledges she used to sew until after
twelve, working for bazaars. If the ladies would only come here and
study the needs of these poor victims of insanity, and make better
arrangements for their welfare, they would find a higher calling than
exhausting their energies working for bazaars, and leaving us to the
care of those who care nothing for us and will not learn. T