University of Virginia Library

It would be
more proper to write Dear Miſs
Brooks; but, in memory of the old
times, when I called you Mam'selle
Sac, such an address seems too
formal. Moreover, it does not
represent the affectionate feelings
with which the memory of you is
surrounded. So, though we are both
white-headed, let the girlish epithet
remain. We are both children in
heart.

I intended to have written to you
before I left Boston, but I kept
hoping the proof-sheets would be so
arranged as to admit my naming
a day for coming to Medford; but

things did not happen as I
expected. Then came the hurry and
fatigue of packing and removing.
Mrs. Pickering went on a visit to
Maynard. I came to Wayland. It
rained two days. I slept in the house
of a neighbor, but spent the
days in my desolate old nest.
Being unable to obtain any sunshine
and dry air, I kept fires a going,
upstairs and down-stairs, while
I unpacked innumerable things,
aired the bedding &c. &c. When the
evenings came, I was too tired to
write a letter. I dropped asleep
as soon as my head touched the
pillow, and slept the sound sleep
of labor. When Mrs. Pickering
arrived, on the fourth evening,
everything in the garden was suffer-
-ing for want of attention, and
temporary labor was very difficult
to be obtained; so I went to digging
and planting. I do not yet see my
way out of the wood; and I feel compell-
-ed to relinquish the idea of going
to Medford this Spring.

The garden, in which my kind old
mate and I worked together for so
many years, interests me but little
now; and I cannot work in it with
so much vigor as I used to; but I
occupy myself with it, because it is
necessary to do something to keep
away desolate thoughts; and air
and sunshine conducive to
health mental and bodily. I try
very hard to travel through the
remainder of my pilgrimage
with brave resignation; but the
way is lonely, and my old feet
are weary. But strength will
be renewed there beyond. Meanwhile,
I must try to help other pilgrims,

whose strength does not hold out
even so well as mine.

What a photographer Memory
is! How plainly I can see dear old
Medford, and the people who were
walking about its streets, sixty years
ago! Governor Brooks, and Dr.
Osgood stand as distinctly before me,
as the Wayland neighbor who is now
passing. What a picture-gallery the
soul will carry with it, when it goes
hence! Well, we shall soon get there,
and see all the life-pictures we have
been unconsciously making. Till then,
let us keep up good courage, and help
others all we can!