sacred influences of a pure New England home, in no small degree. But
to enter upon the satisfactions of a mother in such a case I feel to
be intruding upon consecrated ground. Yet you will easily pardon the
feeling that impels me.

With the greatest respect, yours,

ELIZABETH P. PEABODY.


My mother joins in the pursuit, though interested only in catching a
glimpse of the widow and the shy eldest daughter. It must have been
worth many experiments to gently succeed in putting their skill in
hiding to naught. She slaps a dainty fishing-line through the
leaves:--


MY DEAR ELIZABETH,--I send you a volume of Carlyle, lately published.
It is well worth reading; and your mother--will she like to read it? I
shall charge Bridget to inquire how your mother's and Louisa's
headaches are. I should have gone myself to-day to ask, had not the
wind been east. Won't you come to walk to-morrow afternoon with my
mother, dear Elizabeth, and then I shall see you a few minutes? I want
very much to see you, and to show you a certain white vase filled with
brilliant flowers, which would charm your eye. I hope you enjoyed the
music last evening.

Truly yours and Louisa's,

S. A. PEABODY.