and bereaved King of Judah, "He will not return to me, but I shall go to him." Alas! how fleeting and transitory is life! But a few years since we were just embarking in professional life. Now he is gone, and I, many years his senior, still linger a little longer. Mrs. Dickinson is not with me, or she would join her mournful remembrances. With affectionate regards to all your family. I am sincerely your friend, D. S. DICKINSON. MR. DICKINSON TO MRS. MORRIS. BINGHAMTON, March 4, 1865. MY DEAR MRS. MORRIS-A beautiful little note from our excellent friend, Mrs. D., conveys the painful intelligence that you are afflicted by illness. I was beginning to turn my eyes anxiously towards the mails for an expected letter from you, but I now, since this sad news, hasten to convey to you the sympathy of myself and family, with the assurance that our prayers will be offered for your speedy recovery and relief. I have never been much ill myself, but sickness and sorrow are no strangers in my dwelling, and I know from my poor invalid wife and those who have passed beyond the reach of affliction, how sickness weighs down the heart. But I hope your bright and buoyant spirit will be as light and lovely as ever, and that the coming season with its hope and its sunshine, its mild breezes and its genial showers, its birds and its buds, its germs and early flowers, will cheer and revive you, and restore that sprightliness which is one of your characteristics in the eyes of a no very youthful friend and admirer. After a hard, cold, but consistent winter, the snow and ice are fast imitating Jack Falstaff,-going into a state of " perpetual dissolution and thaw," and evidences of the coming season are upon us. We shall go through a great many squalls before June, but it is pleasing to know that the cruel tyrant winter has given up his reign for the rain of spring. The brutal rebellion seems reeling to its downfall,-slavery has gone to perdition to announce its coming, and if left to Grant and Sherman and Farragut and their associates, it cannot last much longer. I have just the same determination that I evinced when first we met, on that cold December day on the Bostonbound cars;—a determination which enabled you, with more than a woman's perception, to identify your fellow traveller, though you had no reason to suppose he was within hundreds of miles. I always felt a little proud of that individuality. There never has been but one way of disposing of rebellion, and that I saw at a glance, as I now do after four years of terrible experience. To-day Mr. Lincoln is inaugurated for his second term. May God bless and grant him wisdom. His election was not a personal triumph, but the result of the love of Union and hatred of rebellion. There is to-day a great meeting in the city of New York, to celebrate the recent Union victories. Here it is very rainy, and as it is a southeast storm, I fear it is bad time for such a display as they have contemplated. I was invited to speak, but could not conveniently go, and did not much care to, for I hate a crowd, unless it has some useful or necessary purpose, as much as Byron did a "dumpy woman." I wrote them that I acted upon the sentiment of Napoleon, that good news would take care of itself, and that I enjoyed the services that led to victory more than the celebrations, &c. And now, my dear Mrs. Morris, what can I do to smooth your pillow? Let me know, and see if it is not done. I have added you to the list of those near and dear, and must retain you there, for the "few and evil" days of my pilgrimage. When entirely well enough, drop me a very brief (unfatiguing to you) note, telling me. I fear this long, rambling epistle will weary you, but I had not time to make it shorter. The "Pictorials" are after me with some antediluvian cuts, which would have done for Methuselah. I tell Mrs. D. she has procured them to make me look old enough for her husband, and to turn aside the attention of young ladies. If I had known they contemplated such a thing, I would have had it well done. With regards to Mr. M., and love from Mrs. D., and daughters, I am your affectionate friend, D. S. DICKINSON. MR. DICKINSON TO MISS NELLIE MYGATT. Thursday Evening. MY DEAR NELLIE-I write as I talk-too freely and too incessantly; but I cannot,-no I will not, let your beloved note of this morning go unanswered, or rather unacknowledged until Monday. I want to thank you for it now. I want to tell you how happy you all made me in my recent visit, and what a foretaste it was to me of that state where there is "rest for the weary, where the tree of life is blooming." I have spent most of my life buffeting the angry tides of existence, with a heart whose tendrils have been twining round its objects of affection, and still reaching for more, to compensate it for its bereavements by death and its deprivations of sickness and sorrow; and yet the world has never known me and never will. I love the social and domestic circle more than "the applause of listening senates to command; the affection of cherished ones more than the ambitions of the Cæsars; the sacred cares of home and the holy duties of religion more than the éclat of the popular voice, or the notes of the trump of fame. * * * * * Your affectionate friend, وو D. S. DICKINSON. MR. DICKINSON TO MRS. COURTNEY. BINGHAMTON, March 6, 1865. MY DEAR LYDIA L.-This is a bright and lovely morning for March. Your mother is much as usual; was well enough to go to communion service yesterday, but it seemed to fatigue her too much, and this morning she is not quite well enough to write. We are all getting on very comfortably as usual, and the baby grows smart and cunning every day. He is a very bright and lovely child, but rather too much of an idol, considering the uncertainty of life and all human affairs. The snow is gradually disappearing, and we now and then hear a faint and stray note from some song-bird, who is wait ing for spring to raise the blockade. We shall be glad when genial summer, with its mild sunshine and gentle breezes, brings you with us again, and I hope no cruel mishap* may prevent your enjoying it. I do not mean to be much abroad; the more I am at home the more I love to be, and your inother is so much more happy when I am here to assure her that the world will turn on its own "axle-tree" if she does not see to "iling" it, that I hate to be away. Love to Sam. Your affectionate father, D. S. DICKINSON. MR. DICKINSON TO MRS. DICKINSON. NEW YORK, April 15, 1865. MY DEAR LYDIA-We are all overwhelmed with astonishment and grief over the shocking death of the President. How ferocious is dying slavery. This sad event, which startles the nation, will keep me here just now, if nothing else, but I will write you every day. God bless you and all the dear ones. Love to all. Your affectionate husband, D. S. DICKINSON. MR. DICKINSON TO MRS. DICKINSON. NEW YORK, April 16, 1865. MY DEAR LYDIA-It would be a great comfort to me if I could be with you at a time when I know your sensitive heart and weak, nervous system so much need my society and consolation. But these, my dear, are stirring and terrible times, and we must rise equal to the occasion. The whole city is draped in mourning, and all classes walk the streets in search of intelligence, and to converse upon the dastardly atrocity of the slave rebellion. I send you papers showing the doings in Wall street. I went down to help arrange for a meeting, and found thirty * Alluding to an accident by which Mrs. C. was seriously injured the previous summer at Binghamton. thousand people there before me. I am every moment busy, and business is pressing upon the office. I think I shall find it as pleasant and like it as well as I can anything away from the Orchard. I shall come up just as soon after the 20th as possible. You can have no idea of the aspect Wall street presented yesterday, or the manner in which I was received from the balcony of the Custom House, from which I spoke without expectation or a moment's premeditation. Love to all. Your affectionate husband, D. S. DICKINSON. MR. DICKINSON TO MRS. MORRIS. THE ORCHARD, August 13, 1865. MY DEAR MRS. MORRIS-My good daughter, Mrs. Courtney, responded to your affectionate inquiry on hearing of my illness. You know not how it cheered the desolation of a sick-bed to be thus anxiously remembered by such a friend. Since then I have yours of the 26th from "Rye Beach," for which accept my best acknowledgments. Sickness I have realized for the first time; it is a fearful thing for any one, and more especially for one who bears so many relations as are upon me. For three weeks I did not look at a newspaper, nor wish to see one; for about two months I did not appear at the family table, nor attempt to write a letter. I now appear regularly at the family repasts with a keen and healthy appetite, and I show my independence over my dear, good secretary, Mrs. Courtney, by attempting this scrawl to you-my first effort since my prostration! though my nerves are not yet steady. But I am bright and cheerful, and why should I not be, surrounded by so much affection under the domestic roof-tree, and from those bound by ties of sacred friendship? I ride out some, and walk in our pleasant grounds amidst shade, flowers, and birds, and would that my heart would be tenfold more thankful than it can be for my restoration from the perilous sickness which threatened to close my active, excited, earthly existence. It seems our good Father has yet work for me to do, humble though it may be, and |