Naturally I thought most
of you in the matter (its public aspects being indeterminate), and
many times before our friend's letter came I had said to Mr. Lewes:
"What must Mrs. Stowe be feeling!" I remember Mrs. Fields once told me
of the wonderful courage and cheerfulness which belonged to you,
enabling you to bear up under exceptional trials, and I imagined you
helping the sufferers with tenderness and counsel, but yet,
nevertheless, I felt that there must be a bruising weight on your
heart. Dear, honored friend, you who are so ready to give warm
fellowship, is it any comfort to you to be told that those afar off
are caring for you in spirit, and will be happier for all good issues
that may bring you rest?
I cannot, dare not, write more in my ignorance, lest I should be using
unreasonable words. But I trust in your not despising this scrap of
paper which tells you, perhaps rather for my relief than yours, that I
am always in grateful, sweet remembrance of your goodness to me and
your energetic labors for all.
It was two years or more before Mrs. Stowe replied to these words of
sympathy.
Orange-blossom time, MANDARIN, _March_ 18, 1876,
My Dear Friend,--I always think of you when the orange trees are in
blossom; just now they are fuller than ever, and so many bees are
filling the branches that the air is full of a sort of still murmur.
And now I am beginning to hear from you every month in Harper's.
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