To Miss Henrietta Sargent.
I made, and quilted on my lap, the prettiest little crib-quilt you ever saw. The outside had ninety-nine little pink stars of French calico, on a white ground, with a rose-wreath trimming all round for a border; and the lining was a very delicate rose-colored French brilliant. It took one month of industrious sewing to complete it. I sent it to my dear friend, Mrs. S., in honor of her first grand-daughter. It was really a relief to my mind to be doing something for an innocent little baby in these dreadful times. One other recreation I have had this summer. My loved and honored friend, S. J. May, spent a few weeks in Boston, and wrote to me to meet him at his cousin's, S. E. Sewall's. I went after dinner, and left after breakfast next morning. How much we did talk! Sometimes laughing over old reminiscences, sometimes serious even to sadness in view of the great struggle between despotism and freedom. None of us had much faith in men, or in any political party; but we all agreed that the will of God was manifestly overruling the will of man, and making even his wrath to praise him. All thought that emancipation would be the result of the war; the forced result, not the chosen one. Miss R. complained of the exceeding slowness with which things tended to that result. I told her of the consolation an old nurse gave to a mother [157] whose child was very sick. The mother said, “The medicine don't seem to work as you thought it would.” The nurse replied, “It will work. Trust in God, ma'am; he's tedious, but he's sure.” We did n't any of us realize in those early days the extent of our privilege in having engaged in a cause so righteous, with so many earnest, true-hearted, all-alive people.
