_You_
were my earliest religious teacher; your letters to me while a school-
girl in Hartford gave me a high Christian aim and standard which I
hope I have never lost. Not only did they do me good, but also my
intimate friends, Georgiana May and Catherine Cogswell, to whom I read
them. The simplicity, warmth, and childlike earnestness of those
school days I love to recall. I am the _only one living_ of that
circle of early friends. _Not one_ of my early schoolmates is
living,--and now Henry, younger by a year or two than I, has gone--my
husband also. [Footnote: Professor Stowe died August, 1886.] I often
think, _Why_ am I spared? Is there yet anything for me to do? I
am thinking with my son Charles's help of writing a review of my life,
under the title, "Pebbles from the Shores of a Past Life."
Charlie told me that he has got all written up to my twelfth or
thirteenth year, when I came to be under sister Catherine's care in
Hartford. I am writing daily my remembrances from that time. You were
then, I think, teacher of the Grammar School in Hartford. . . .
So, my dear brother, let us keep good heart; no evil can befall us.
Sin alone is evil, and from that Christ will keep us. Our journey is
_so_ short!
I feel about all things now as I do about the things that happen in a
hotel, after my trunk is packed to go home. I may be vexed and annoyed
. . . but what of it! I am going home soon.
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