I was thankful to receive your kind letter.
You say you lope we had some drops of rain here.
Such a storm as we had I have seldom witnessed.
The day after you went away, there came one of those dreadful hurricanes of wind, smashing my flowers and tearing everything, right and left.
I was in hopes it would go down with the sun, but it did not.
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Whenever I woke in the night I heard everything rocking and reeling.
In the morning I went to look after the poor little sparrow in the rose-bush, whom I had seen the day before, shutting her eyes hard and sticking tight to her nest, which was tossed about like a ship in a heavy gale.
I wanted much to help her, but could not. Next morning I found the nest nearly wrenched from the bush and two of the eggs on the ground.
They were still warm, so I replaced them, righted the nest and fastened it to the twigs with strings.
To my great surprise she returned to her patient labor of incubation. ...
Mrs. S. returned on Friday, and I went as far as Boston with her. The day was so intensely hot that I regretted having put my head into the city.
But as I was toiling along I heard a voice behind me exclaim, “Maria Child!”
I turned and recognized John G. Whittier.
He said he had missed the cars by some mistake, but now he felt the disappointment was providential; he had for a long time so wanted to see me. I could not bear to go into the office where I had been accustomed to take my friends.
I knew the empty chair of that dear lost friend1 would be too much for me. So I asked him into H.'s office, and there we chatted an hour.
Mrs. S. regretted your absence, left kind remembrances for you, and told me I was “a happy woman to have a husband that wrote me such charming love letters.”
I told her I thought so too.
