To Margaret Howitt.
Dear Miranda is deeply interested in her little Italian pupils, and longs much for nice English stories for them. She just wrote to beg us to send her all that remained of our childhood's stock. I never read them now ; they would be of real use there ; and I conquered my selfishness at last ; but I couldn't help a great pain in packing the dear books which Mrs. Howitt had given me so long ago. I remember well the night she gave me "Fireside Verses," and the many many happy hours it gave us as children. And now the books are gone, to do a little more blessed work ; but I have instructed Miranda to bring them carefully back with her.
December 5th, 1859.
To Miss Baumgartner.
I am glad you have redeemed your birthday from melancholy, and consecrated it to charity, which, after all, is one of the most surely joyous things. I must read the St. Andrew's Day carefully ; but now I must give you an account of my birthday. It was a cold, bright day. I woke late ; it was post time as I left my room, no letters ; time went on, no letters. I was fairly disappointed ; but, half an hour too late, owing to frost, your letter and one from Miss Harris arrived. I was leaving the house for Dulwich, and so read them in the omnibus with thankful delight. I enjoyed my walk much ; the snow lay white on the long finger-like boughs of Ruskin's cedar, as I passed, and prayed God's blessing might rest on the house. I worked well, and then went to the College and did the same, thinking of many things. Dear Miss Sterling was most kind, and
