Among the disturbing forces that conflicted with this somewhat dreamy period of my existence, was the thought that I could no longer, by my own earnings, add to the comfort of my parents. It had been the purest, most unmixed pleasure, that I had ever tasted. How could I possibly resign it? Imagination was active in searching if there were not some form of productive employment consistent with my new position. The liberality of my future husband was unquestioned. But I desired to retain the privilege of working for my parents. Selfishly, I was unwilling that any should intermeddle with this sacred joy. Yet how could it be retained? Might I not write some small work for children—some school-book, and get money? I had heard of a society in New York, which accorded good prices for nice needle-work, with the intention of encouraging that form of female industry. I was expert and delicate in the uses of the needle. Might I not sew, and earn something for them?
These unsolved anxieties were deepened by the consciousness that I was soon to leave their roof forever. Still this was imperfectly realized until the time of separation came. They were so thoughtful of my feelings, as never to allude to that event with any expression of regret. Often was I saying in my heart, the Lord bless them for their forbearance and self-control. The reserve which we thus practised toward each other,
