‘Though still very low to-day, Mrs. —— did not seem to me to be inaccessible to religious comfort. I fancied that there was a little lightening of the darkness.... I do not know of anything that she wants. I have supplied her with working materials. Perhaps a little book with pictures in it is as good as anything, as amusing without fatiguing the mind.... I know the beautiful large texts that you allude to; but I do not know where they could well be fixed in the Insane Ward. They are more, I think, for the bedridden.’
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘Gresford, Sept. 13, 1863.
‘I thought of you as I stood on the soft green slope down to the water, and looked on the bright little stream, with its white foam sparkling in the sunlight. How much of its beauty it owes to the pebbles that fret it; and how much of its rapidity to the fall in its course. But in our lives, how we—at least I—shrink from the pebbles! How we would fain have all glassy smooth,—though Nature itself teaches us that then it would become stagnant. The “sea of glass” is for another world....
‘I sometimes think that consoling is one of the most delightful employments given to God’s servants. It is pleasanter than teaching; far far more so than reproving others, or struggling against evil, or examining our own hearts. You were a comfort to poor dear ——, and I dare say that the sense of being so lightened your own trial of parting. I would give a great deal to have your influence with ——; but the Almighty has not been pleased to grant me this. Perhaps He will some day.’
TO THE SAME.
‘July 29, 1864.
‘I want particularly to know whether, in case I see my way to gaining money by it for some religious or charitable purpose, you will make me a present of that little bit of your welcome to the Princess which I have turned into a hymn. Also whether you would mind Mrs. Hamilton’s name being published on it. The hymn has been ringing so in my ears, and with such a soothing effect when I did not feel particularly cheerful, that I should like others to have the same comfort. I have made inquiries as to the cost of printing and publishing it.... Being very short, I do not think that much could be asked; and this is perhaps the gem of your music. I do not want it to be done at your expense, but at my own, and to manage everything after my own fashion,—but I cannot plunder you either of your music or your name without your leave....
‘Dear Fanny is better, though still prisoner to her room. She has had a sharp attack of fever; and I am afraid it will be difficult to throw off the cough. The rest of our party are well, as I trust that I may find you and your dear circle.’
TO THE SAME.