My Dear friend:

I am trying to speak to your letter of yesterday, myself, but it is from a very sick bed.

I write none—see only those I must.

I must see you. Come and see me though only a week. I had hoped to see you under better conditions.

I replied to your dispatch. Come when you will; all times are alike to me.

Yours sincerely and always,

(Signed) Clara Barton.

[12]. Her friends who were with her through her last illness say the letter of which the above is a copy is the last letter written by Clara Barton.

I did not err: there does a sable cloud

Turn forth her silver lining on the night.