last were so very cold! But no warm-summer letter has come, and I must leave in faith and in hope. And in love I heartily embrace mama and you!
P.S.
It is over. I have left them for ever, that great country, those dear, precious friends! It was inevitable, and it is done; but I feel still stupified, as it were, by it. Thank God, however, the severest moment is past.
And the morning on which I left—it was a strange morning! I was almost bewildered by the multitude of small duties which I yet had to perform, and by a lingering headache; but all at once it went, and everything brightened up. The good Marcus sat in my room, and sealed my letters as I wrote them, and received my commissions, saying calmly between whiles, “plenty of time.” “We are in good time.” And it really seemed to me almost miraculous how the hours and the time spun themselves out; everything disentangled itself; everything became light and easy, so wonderfully calm and even pleasant;—it was the influence of the gentle spirit that was near me.
In good time I was ready; everything was ready. And I embraced my beloved Rebecca, kissed Jenny and the baby, and set off accompanied by Marcus and Eddie.
On board the “Atlantic” I found myself all at once, in a regular whirlpool of old and new acquaintance; gentlemen who shook hands, and presented me with pamphlets which they had written; ladies who presented me with lovely gifts; acquaintance who introduced acquaintance; dear friends from the north, from the south, who astonished me here to say farewell; and which ever way I turned my head I was kissed by somebody. Ah! I was almost glad when the bell summoned my friends on shore, and I could hide myself in my berth.
