Tues. Noon 260 Greene Street [not dated]

My dear Mr. Palmer,

As I get no letter from you today, I conclude that perhaps you wait for me to drop you a line with regard to the Catskill expedition; Mr. John to my great joy has decided to go, and we start on Friday morning. So if you can send me the money by return mail I shall get it before we go which I should prefer to do, though if not convenient, I can just as well "settle" with Mr. John after our return.

But I shall have to ask you for the whole sum. The money which I saved from not going to Nest [?] Point, I am sorry to say, must all go to a dressmaker to pay her for altering the dresses which I received from Charlestown last week. I don't know that I can feel more tired in my life. There was not a single dress that I could wear, until it had been altered. But I will not trouble you with details of this sort. But when occurrences make such a draft as this our patience and purse too, it is really provoking. My dressmaker was inexcusable, for she had every pattern & direction necessary.

What a dream it seems that our term so soon closes! Has Annie said anything more to you, about our Amherst visit? Would it not be best for us to write & make inquires about board, or will it be time enough, when I see you? In three weeks my first season as teacher is over! But I must not cannot write another word. School is out, and a crowd of my scholars are about me waiting for me to walk home. Such an escort, is rather oppressive, these warm days. Goodbye with much love to Mrs. Palmer & Harriet,

Yours Affectionately Helen

260 Greene St. Wed Morning March 18 [1850?] [this penciled-in date may be wrong - March 18 was a Wednesday in 1846 and 1857, but not 1850 - this letter is probably from 1846]

My dear Mr. Palmer,

I received your very kind and gratifying letter last week, and have embraced the first feudal moment to reply to it. I say feudal but it is rather a misapplication of the word, as the time can hardly be called feudal, which a teacher spends at her desk, continually expecting that some pupils will make her appearance with a long list of difficulties in Latin or Arithmetic. I presume that you received my long epistle which was mailed, I thing only the day previous to the receipt of yours. I regretted extremely that I did not receive it before sending my own.

I thank you much for your kindness in relating to me the circumstances of Professor Peabody's last illness. As I alluded in the close of my letter to his death, I hesitated, with a desire to know the particulars, and almost penned the words requesting you to write them to me, but was deterred by the fear that it might be taking too great a liberty, or asking too much. I am on that account, doubly grateful for the kindness which lead you to anticipate my interest and desire, to know all the circumstances if so sand an event, so deep an affliction.

I did indeed ask myself, as you had supposed I would, "What will Mr. Palmer's Christian faith, strong as it is, see of mercy in such a dispensation a this?" And another question too, dear Mr. Palmer, which is often below my mind, and is always presented with renewed focus on any such occurrence as this, "why is it? Is God kind in all his government of his creatures?" Who can see any reason why one so useful to talented, "so loving and so loved" should be this take from earth, and thousands be left, whose lives are no blessings either to themselves, or to others? But you are a Christian, and it is not kind for me to speak this to you. The dispensations of Providence are often more mysteriously dark to me; "clouds and darkness" veil very often the arrangements of that Ruler, "the foundations" of whose throne, I have not the faith and the love to discern, but I ought not to express such feelings.

Will Mrs. Peabody return to Dorchester? Or, has her mother left that place? When you see her, or in any way communicate with her, please to remember me very affectionately to her. Her husband was so valued a friend of my parents that I feel his death deeply, and I became so much interested in her also, during the few days that I spent in Amherst, that I feel a strong desire to express to her my warm sympathy in her loss. I well remember the very kind, cordial invitation to which Mrs. P. alluded, which he gave me, on the morning of my departure. Its kindness and sincerity affected my feelings deeply at the time, and I have often recalled it since, little thinking that he was so soon to exchange the "home" of which he spoke, for a celestial one.

I regret much to learn that you have been afflicted in your own family circle, though more lightly. I hope the restoration to health may be a permanent one.

Please remember me very affectionately to Mrs. Palmer, Hattie, and Lucy, and accept my affectionate regards for yourself. Excuse the freedom and tedious prolixity of my last letter, and write, dear Mr. Palmer, whenever you can find leisure, to,

Yours, sincerely and gratefully,

Helen

New York Mon. Dec. 31, 48

My dear Mr. Palmer,

At last, after encountering so many obstacles, and passing through so many vicissitudes, here I am at the round study table in the back parlor. It seems like a dream. I have not yet begun to realize that I am here. Every thing seems natural, and yet, everything seems change, how, or in what, I cannot tell. But I met with a most cordial welcome, not only from Mr. & Mrs. Abbott, but from all the members of the family. I think I lost a great deal, by not being here on Monday evening last. My tokens however, were all laid carefully in my room for me. A ring from Mrs. Abbott with her own & Mr. Jones hair. A little pin from Jennie with her hair in it, an ornamental box of note, paper and an inkstand from Mr. John. The Christmas tree now stands in the yard & its branches drooping under the damp snow which fell last night, and its whole aspect looking very much as if it was discontented with its new situation. The midnight mass owing to some unknown cards did not take place, so the girls were (very fortunately) prevented from their late walk.

I feel now quite rested, and am anticipating a pleasant walk down Broadway this afternoon. But I think very often of Boston, and to see you in New York, in a few weeks. My love to Mrs. Palmer. I shall not soon forget my pleasant excursion to Amherst with her. Remember me to Lucy and Hattie also, if you please. I should be most happy to hear from them at any time.

I should inflict a longer epistle on you Mr. Palmer where it not there the post boy will be here in a moment, and I must dress for dinner.

Yours very affectionately Helen

Envelope: Julius A. Palmer Esq.
No. 91 Washington Street
Boston

Charlestown Thursday Aug. 9 1849

My dear Mr. Palmer,

I have written a note to Mr. Snell, which I enclose, of which I am very much ashamed, and of which you would be too, could you see the inside. But I suppose it will accomplish its end, namely the starting of our rocking chair on its journey east, and that was the most I had in view, in writing it. Everything is in such hopeless confusion that it is anything but a favorable time for letter writing and such business which requires a quiet room and all your apparatus on hand.

The painting is all dry. The paper nearly on, and the carpet to be put down this afternoon, so that all will be in readiness for the furniture at the appointed time, and I think I never longed more fore anything than I do to see the room "put to rights." We are living now in a fashion somewhat akin to that which new settlers at the West are obliged to adopt, and which Mrs. Kickland humorously calls "living anywhere, everywhere, and no-where in particular."

I enclose two bills from Dr. Gregg, which were left the other day at uncle Vinals. There is no immediate necessity of their being paid. Indeed I should think they might as well be defended as not. But I suppose that Miss Brown will expect that when we begin on the new arrangement, the old bill will be paid. I believe I mentioned to you the other day that she had told me so. Grandpa said yesterday that he should think the house had better be sold, but if enough can be raised by disposing of stocks &c, it would be for pleasanter to me and I do not doubt also to Annie. I love that old home, and cannot bear the though of its becoming the property of a stranger.

I cannot conclude dear Mr. Palmer without thanking you for the kind sympathy, counsel, and assistance you have given us. I feel that we are and ever shall be under lasting obligations to you, and I am sure I do most earnestly hope that neither of us will ever do anything which shall render the charge you have so kindly taken, unnecessarily burdensome.

With affectionate remembrances to your wife and daughter, I am,

Yours Sincerely,

Helen M. Fiske

Charlestown Sat. Morning

Dear Mr. Palmer,

Sister Annie was so unfortunate last evening as to give the finishing stroke to the chimney of our Polar [?], which on the evening previous she had cracked in attempting to light a paper at the top of it. I do not know to what sort of store, to go for another. It had occurred to me that possible you may keep them. If do will it be asking too much for you to send us one if not convenient today, any time during the first of next week?

I presume your daughters have mentioned to you the request of Mrs. Coombs, that we should pay in advance for our lessons. If you will be in the store on Monday forenoon, I will call then for it, as I shall dine in the city. You cannot imagine how glad I am that I took up the study! I feel very grateful indeed to you for the kind advice which led me to do it. I hope, dear Mr. Palmer that you will always, as in this case suggest at once any matters, which you think will be for my improvement in any respect.

I am almost inclined to sway you, the having been to New York this week! However I have it still in store, but I forgot that I must not anticipate too much in the future. It is hard however to change the habits of being, which a life time has strengthened. I hear every week from my friends there. They seem to be looking forward with almost as much interest as myself to the coming of December.

Anne is waiting and I must close. With sentiments of the sincerest respect and gratitude, I am,

Yours Affectionately,

Helen

Charlestown, Friday Morning [Nov. 30, 1849?]

My dear Mr. Palmer,

The cry is "still they come"! I fear you will be tired of the sight of those Charlestown board bills. You probably recollect that our last bill, by some little oversight, which like oversights in general, belong to nobody in particular, ran over one week, becoming due for five weeks instead of four. The one which I now send, as you will see, is for three weeks. Miss. Brown said that it would be an accommodation for her if equally convenient to you, to have this paid now, and then pay as before, on the last Friday of every month. I have made out our bills separately, as mine is one dollar more than Annies, that amount being for some sewing which I was obliged to hire, last week and which Miss. Brown did for me.

Annie tells me that she mentioned to you, the continuation of the melancholy series of catastrophes which seems to attend our poor Polar [?]! I look upon it quite in the light of a judgment up on me, for my want of sympathy with Annie, in her distress, when she broke it before! What shall we do, Mr. Palmer shall we give up our Polar [?] and use pewter, or shall we "go to bed in the dark," as we used occasionally to do as a punishment for childish naughtinesses, in years gone by?

If you think that we deserve another shade will you be kind enough to send us, or, any time when it is convenient? This will do very well, until we get another, as it is not fairly shattered, but has one side quiet scientifically "knocked in," or "knocked our," I hardly could tell which.

You do not know, how disappointed, I was, not to be able to spend Thanksgiving with you. My sore throats always happen exactly so just at the times when I can the least put up with them. And they are as contrary as some animals we read of, for they will go, when I am not particularly desirous to have them. Now, today, my throat is very much better, so much so, that if it were yesterday (excuse the insertion [?] of that expression) I should go to Boston, without hesitation. However I do wrong to speak this, for I ought to be very grateful that it seems to be getting well, without such a siege, as I often have. But I spent a dull Thanksgiving eating only those things which the endless dictator rules of Homeopathy will allow, and sitting round "with my neck muffled up in a Homeopathic embrocation" of cold water, and the whole surmounted by a green scarf!

Three weeks from today is the twenty first of December! Am I to go to New York or not? The question seems lately to have been a little unsettled. I am willing to abide by your decision in the matter, as of course I should be in all cased.

But I am writing you an epistle instead of a business note, and your time to say nothing of your patience, will I fear be surely taxed in its perusal. With many thanks for your kindness in times past, I am, as ever

Yours affectionately,

Helen

Sat Evening Dec. 16, 1849

My dear Mr. Palmer,

Enclosed is a letter which I received from Mr. Abbott, yesterday forenoon. I thought of brining it over to you, and having some conversation with you personally, on the subject to which it relates, but I have concluded that it will be better to write, for in conversation, many things escape attention, and besides, as you have often see, it is a subject on which I cannot speak, without too much emotion to make it pleasant for me to allude to it. Mr. John mikes me an offer of a situation in his family, as teacher, with a compensation which is more than liberal, and dear Mr. Palmer, I may as well say in the outset, that I am very unwilling to decline it, without making at least one more strenuous effort, to arrange matters so that it may be accepted. As you can easily imagine, I have though of little else, since the receipt of this letter. Will you bear with me, while I tell you, a few of those thoughts?

In the first place, I thing of the advantages of a residence in Mr. Abbotts family. In an intellectual and literary point of view, what could be more desirable? My education, in many particulars, is now very deficient. There, besides the experience and mental discipline which I should gain by teaching, I should have an opportunity to attend to some studies. My duties in school would be such, as to require little or no preparation at home, and I should have time to make progress in, at any rate, some one, of the many branches, with which I need a more thorough acquaintance. Then, one must, of a necessity, improve by daily intercourse with persons of a highly elevated literary character, and varied attainments, such as Mr. John, and Mr. Jacob, their teachers, and the society in which they move. To give their pupils an opportunity of becoming acquainted with men, and things, to see the world, to improve in mind and manners also, to acquire an ease and maturity of acting, as well as thinking, is in a measure the design of the institution. Where else in the world can I find such an opportunity? What situation can I be in, which in all these respects, would be so perfectly adapted to fit one for any circumstances, in which the changes of future years may plan me?

So far as the cultivation of the moral affections is concerned, it is a delicate point for me to touch. But I can say, and I ought, in justice to my dear friends there, to say, that never, since my own home was closed, have I been in any situation where home influences in all their sacredness and strength, were so binding on my heart. Indeed, before I went there, I asked often to wonder whether I had any heart. I found little, in my wandering life, to call it out, if I had one. I would not speak ungratefully of my friends and relatives here. They have been kind, very very kind to us, and I am deeply grateful to them. But between the, and me, has always been a wall. It has been my fault, I do not doubt; has been owing to my peculiarities, peculiarities which I perhaps could have overcome; but at any rate, it has always been so. There has been a separation, a want of congeniality, an utter impossibility of sympathy, which has made me sad, how sad, you cannot know, which has often made me weep, simply because I was "all alone." At New York, I found another world, where all was happy, open, confiding, sympathizing, and congenial. To Mr. and Mrs. Abbott, I could reveal my whole heart, my joys and sorrows, hopes and fears with the same trustful love, with which, as a child, I ran to my mother. It needs no argument to prove that such a state of things is more favorable to the heart and disposition, than a life of distance and reserve to all about you.

In a pecuniary point of view, there can be no doubt, I presume, of the eligibility of this office. To be in New York, with a salary of $100 per annum, is certainly better than to be here, at an expense of $4.00 per annum, and that amount coming, not as income from a large property, but annual deductions from a small capital!

And now, dear Mr. Palmer, come the disadvantages of my being here. It is not a very bright picture, but I will try not to color it too strongly. I will try to be impartial, in my statement of facts. To begin as I did before, with the literary advantages in the family in which I reside, that question is soon disposed of, for here, I have none. Miss Brown keeps a very good boardinghouse, and her boarders are very punctual at their meals, which they take, in almost quaker solemnity and silence. There are four in the family, besides grandfather, and of the four, three are, so far as intellect is concerned, certainly, not above mediocrity. Neither do I know a single literary or even educated gentleman, in the place, if we except the Rev. Mr. Tappan when I cannot better describe to you, them by comparing him to Mr. Samuel Adams, Annie's teacher. I have made a careful estimate of all my acquaintances here, and find that there are just seven families, besides Aunt Vinals, where I can call. With four of these, my acquaintances amounts only to having received and returned one call. With none of them, should I think of spending the evening. So you see that my society is rather circumscribed. I will now give you a brief sketch of a day, with me, "for as is on, so are they all." Immediately after breakfast, Annie must hurry away to school, form which she does not return until two. Then I have the forenoon, on my hands. It must be spent alone, for there is no one in the house, but Miss Brown, who is always where you know I am not fond of being, in the kitchen. Grandfather is either in Boston, or buried in his books. I can sew, read, write, or practice, by myself. In the afternoon Annie has all her lessons to learn, and I can sew, read, write or practice again. This routine can be varied, but a walk, a call at Aunt Vinal's, or if nothing else can be thought of, but the breaking of a few lamp shades. In the evening, if Annie has no lessons to learn, we can sit in our room, and sew, or if we choose, go down to the parlor, where the two Misses Brown sit with their work, and the boarders discourse of stocks and politics! What improvement, in minds or manners, can I devise, from such a life as this? On the contrary, will it not be an inevitable consequence, that in a short time, I shall become silent, awkward, uncultivated, ignorant of the sagas of society, the customs of etiquette and politeness, and the thousand little things of that sort, which are so all important to a lady? Indeed Mr. Palmer, I feel the effects of it already. I am sensible of a loss, in these respects. I am painfully conscious of a deficiency in such matters, and I feel tat it will and must be increasingly so, should I remain in my present position. I think that when a your lady has reached her twentieth year, an acquaintance with, and mingling with polite and literary society, far above, rather than approaching to, her own level, is more important for a few years than anything else, and I feel that a residence for that periods, in my present situation will be an incalculable disadvantage to me.

Then another disadvantage of my remaining here, is the expense. Taking in all the extras, it may safely be estimated at $4.50 per week, for my board alone. This amounts to $234.00 per year. Then $40.00 per year for the use of the piano, and my other expenses would bring it up to $400.00, I do not doubt. The discrepancy between an income of $150.00 and an expenditure of $400.00, would, I think trouble a less reflective head than mine. To be sure, the case is different from what it would be, if we had no other expectations, but still those are uncertain, and I hope, far removed. I hope that grand father will live for many years, and that is, now, no reason why he should not. And our property will not support us long, at this rate, and then, to be entirely dependent either on my own exertions, or on his bounty, charity, generosity, or whatever it might be called, would be a hard lot for me to bear. I know he says that "in a little while," he shall be clear from debt, and be able to pay his board and ours too, &c. &c. &c., but there is no reliance to be put upon it, whatever. I am writing confidentially to you, Mr. Palmer, and will tell you what I know, on this point, and then you can judge of the probabilities of the case. It has always been "the cry", with him "debts, debts!" One would have thought that for the last four years, he had been terribly involved in debt, and that there was no prospect of being able to extricate himself. The truth is, he owes a cousin $1000, and he is determined to pay it, from his rents, and in no other way, while Uncle Vinal says that he has in the banks, a large amount, more than sufficient to pay it so there is no prospect of any amendment in this respect. I do not doubt, that as long as he lives he will feel as if he were reduced to extremities, on account of, this very debt, when he might pay it, at any hour of any day if he chose.

I read Mr. John's letter to him, this forenoon. He made no reply until I asked him what he though of it. He then said, "Why, you can go. I am willing if you want to, and perhaps it will be better for you. It is bad for anybody to be idle." But I must have a more formal, positive and irrevocable consent, than that. I told him, I should ask you to come and talk with him, about it; he said "Well", and went out of the room, and nothing farther has been said. I think he is much more favorable inclined to it, than he was two weeks ago, and if you will only think it is for the best, and will tell him so, and see before him some of the considerations which I have mentioned, I have little doubt that he would yield a "cordial approval." And will you not, dear Mr. Palmer? Do you not think, not so much in consequences of this long epistle, for I am no logician, but from a view of the simple facts in the case, that it will be better for me to accept Mr. John's offer, than to remain here? Does it not seem as if it would be wrong, to lose such an opportunity?

Annie, I suppose, would be sorry to have me go, and I should be sorry to leave her. But her situation here, is very different from mine. She came here when a mere child, has grown up, with the girls of her own age, and has now a large, I should think, an unusually large circle of acquaintances. She is much engrossed in her studies, and also goes into company a good deal. Her friends call almost every day to see her, and seem to love her very dearly, and I think that as she has lived away from me for the last six years, with the exception of six months, she would very easily become reconciled to it again.

And now, dear Mr. Palmer, I must draw this long letter to a close. I fear you have been sadly bored, but your kind patience under past inflictions, has emboldened me to presume perhaps too much, upon your forbearance. And you, I do not feel as if I had said on half I might. I know I have not said one half I feel. But I do so want you to think as I think about it, that I do not know how to stay my pen. If you can feel that it is best, you can convince grandfather that it is so, I am sure. If you cannot feel so, of course, I could not ask you to plead for me against your own convictions. But I do not think it would be politic to attempt to settle it all with him, before I go. He expects me to go on to make a visit. He will soon find that he is just as comfortable without me, and after I am fairly there, will be more likely to think I had better stay. But I wanted to tell you all about it, and learn your opinion, as soon as possible, for I do not love to be in suspense, and I shall feel that your opinion, for or against, decides the question. Should it be decidedly against it, I shall go on to New York, make a visit of three or four weeks, and then come back, settle down in Charlestown, with a feeling that it is for the next five years, and do not think me childish, or unreasonable, Mr. Palmer, when I add, with the feeling also that all hope of ever being or doing anything may as well be given up. You will say that I might do differently. Might interest myself more in society here, and try to be more contented. I know it seems so. But I cannot. I have tried for the last six months, in vain. Do you not thin k that if I could, I would be as glad to, as my friends would be to have me? I know as well as they, that it would be maul for my own happiness. It is now that I have a blind love for New York. If there were no such place as New York, or such school as Mr. Abbott's, I could not, any more than now, be happy or even contented in my present condition.

But I will not tax your patience any more. It is now uncertain when I go on for my visit. Mr. Kent is much more unwell, and they will not be able to go, on Friday as we had intended. I think I shall wait a few days for them, and then, if they cannot go, go on alone, or with some one else. I cannot close, dear Mr. Palmer, without asking your forgiveness for troubling you so often and so much, and acknowledging once more, what I love to acknowledge, the parental kindness and interest, you have ever shown to

Your affectionate ward Helen.

New York, Monday Morning Jan 14 [1850]

My dear Mr. Palmer,

I have been meaning for the past week to answer your very kind letter, but I have been unable to attend to any such duties. What will you say dear Mr. Palmer to the news that your ward Helen had not literally forsaken the Homeopathic faith in which she was so strong, but so far so as to put herself under the charges of Dr. H. Green, the famous throat doctor, under whose care my father was before leaving the country.

You did not know, (because I did not think best to tell you), that I was threatened with one of my sore throats, on the morning that I left Springfield for New York. By evening it was quite sore, but my good Homeopathic medicines relieved it in a day or two. The evil day however was only put off for a short time, and on Friday I was seized still more severely, and was fairly obliged to give up. For two or three days I was very sick, but I still persevered in my powers and liquids although Mrs. Abbott, I knew, was distressed to see me doctoring myself with sugar and water, and I began to be a little apprehensive myself. On Monday Dr. Green called to see another of the young ladies, and I asked Mrs. Abbott to set him look at me, for I new that as he has a very extensive practice among such diseased, he could tell at once the nature of mine. He examined my throat and sounded my lungs, and said that it was a case of chronic bronchitis, precisely similar to my fathers, except that the disease had not extended so far. He said little to me, but told Mr. Abbott, that certainly should not live long unless the disease was removed, and that it was a wonder that with all the consumptive tendencies of our family, I had lived so long. I have been feeling for some time that I must have something done, and I felt that Dr. Green seemed to understand my case better than any other physician I had ever seen. He made on Tuesday a second examination of any throat, and begged Mr. John not to let me delay the operation, as the disease was fast extending down the bronchial tube.

So on Wednesday morning I seated myself in the Doctor's chair, and opened my mouth, but not to speak. It was a painful operation but not a tedious one, and when I saw the frightfully diseased parts which he removed, I was more thankful than words ca tell, that it had been done. The right tonsil was so much ulcerated that it separated, and he was obliged to take it out in parts. And both were in a condition of which I had not the slightest conception. Dr. Green says that the disease was worse than he had supposed that with all his practice (and he averages forty patients a day) he had not had so bad a case for a year. He tells me and I cannot help feeling that my general health must have suffered much from the existence of such a disease, and that now, I shall be very much better in every respect. These ulcerated glands were constantly secreting a diseased matter, thus affecting the action of the stomach, lungs, and indeed the whole system. But I shall weary and disgust you with all these egotistical details. I wanted however that you should know the exact circumstances of, the case, those by which I was in the first place lead to undergo the operation, and those by what I am now lead to feel so grateful that it is done, and so sanguine that I shall now have a health and strength, which for the last two years I have known only too surely, where mine only in appearance.

The subsequent part of Dr. Green's method of treatment is quite painful, consisting of the application of a sort of caustic to the throat, and (don't laugh, nor be incredulous) to the windpipe. He certainly does (though medical men have violently disputed the possibility of this thing) insect his sponge into the windpipe. No one can doubt it, who has once had the operation performed on himself. This is necessary only in cases of bronchitis, and not in common diseases of the throat. Father was under this mode of treatment for sometime before he sailed for the East, and became much interested in Dr. Green and his wife, who seems to be as much to in him. He gave Dr. Green a copy of the sermon preached by Dr. Humphrey at our mothers funeral, and it gave me great pleasure to find out this fact, because I know that he gave them to few out of the family, and only to those for whom he felt an unusual interest.

It brings an expense which I had not anticipated as all ending my removal to New York, but which at the same time, I cannot but feel will be more than madeup to me, in years to come, by the benefits which I am sure I shall enjoy if I live. Dr. Green's charge for the first operation is $25,00. I shall be under his charges now probably for a fortnight, and have this application made every other day, but I think $30,00 will cover the whole. I have written to Annie to purchase me an article for the hair, which I cannot obtain here, and perhaps it will be as safe for her to send the money on in the package which she will send by express as is any way. I twill be quite a large package (as I have sent also for a Latin Dictionary, and some forgotten articles of clothing) and will not be likely to get lost by the way. But if you will have the kindness to give her $2,00 for the purchase of which I spoke above, and the money for the Dr's bill, to be sent either in the package, or by letters, as you may think best, I shall be indebted to you.

I have done what you will call "wicked" dear Mr. Palmer, as you did once before. I have just put into Mrs. Abbotts bright fire, a whole page of my ideas and sentiments, addressed to yourself! But it was only because the date was so old that I was ashamed to finish it. I shall say just the same things in my next letter, which if I gain strength for the next two days as fast as I have for the last, you will soon receive. Until today however I have not sat up more than an hour at a time since the operation was performed. In four weeks my teachers noviciate [?] commences! I am anticipating a great deal of pleasure and some draw backs. I am going to have a class Latin which I shall look upon as a daily oasis, relieving the disects of grammar and spelling! I am happy very happy I feel at home and they are all so glad to have me once more at home with them, that without feeling flattered, I am grateful for such Kind love. Dear Mr. Palmer I was not wrong in the feeling that I could do more in New York than in Charlestown. I have regained my interest in study and kindred things, & you would hardly recognize the girl whom you almost had to push into the French Classes! But I know you are ties by this time, of my rambling letter. Thank you again for yours, so kind, so gratifying. When I get your letters and Annies letters, notes fro she doesn't write letters, I want to see Boston. Why cannot Boston come and stay in New York!

My love to Mrs. Palmer Hattie & Lucy. Don't let Mrs. Palmer forget any of that funny things which happened on our way from Palmer to Amherst, because, one of these days I shall want to laugh over them with her. And now with kindest regards to yourself I must say goodbye. It is hardly needful for me to add, that although I would not encroach on your time, I am ever delighted to receive a line from you. Once more "goodbye".

Your affectionate ward, Helen

New York City- Friday Jan. 17, 1850

My dear Mr. Palmer,

For a week after my return to New York I was wholly incapacitated for any epistolary effect on account of quite a severe inflammation in my right eye, which made it both painful and unsafe for me to use it at all. Had it not been for this, you would have heard from me immediately according to my promise, but since Monday last, which was the first day upon which I could see, I have been so hurried by one thing and another which have accumulated on my hands that I have been utterly unable. We reached New York in safety at about sex o'clock, notwithstanding two inches of wet snow on the rails between Worcester and Springfield, and six cross babies in our car, all the way between Boston & New York! Mr. John met us at Thirty Third Street, and rode with us to our fine depot in Canal Street, where we went through the usual routine of engaging "a nice hack sir", "first rate carriages and hosses, sir!", and riding up in a ricketty, tumbledown, don't drive-too-fast, sort of an affair, with horses which cooked as if they had been a recent importation from the place where they put up "frames for horses", and with a driver who hadn't change enough, poor fellow, to take six shillings, out of a dollar! Every body was glad to see us, and we were right glad to see every body; so we had a pleasant meeting. Some people who had predicted, you know that I should not be back until Monday, were surprised, and I thought, a little, just the very least in the world, sorry that it did not "turn out", "just as they said ' would"! - but very glad too, that it did not. School began to begin, on Monday but we did not yet fairly under way until the middle of the week. At first I was a little inclined to think of people and things at the East, but the harness, soon settled down again, as easy as, and a good deal lighter than before, and now I can hardly realize that I have been to Boston at all. It is very strange, but true, that now Mr. John has made up his mind to go, every body suddenly remembers that they want to send their daughters to him to be educated. We have had seven new scholars writers the last ten days - four new boarders, and I cannot tell how many applications from others who do not come, because the school is so soon to be broken up! What a strange thing Providence is and how interesting it is to watch the changes, which make up Life to those about us! And what a sad heart, his must be who sees in it all, only the inconsistent, and every varying caprice of chance, and yet how hard it I, always, and undoubting to believe and feel that a just and kind and all wise Hand is ever directing, even in confusion!

I alluded to Mr. Everett, in my note. I had time for but an allusion, for although I had not much to day, I did not wish to day it hastily. I wrote him a note which I gave to him, as I left, telling him that I thought our correspondence had better cease, that I had carried it on, against the wishes of those, friends who ought to be ever consulted as parents, and, for the latter part of the time, against my own gradually strengthening convictions of what was best for us both, that my regard for him had not diminished, that I valued his esteem and friendship most highly, that the most painful thought to me, connected with the affair, was of the possibility of his ascribing my change to caprice, or unkindness, that I should always entertain toward him sentiments of the most sincere friendship, and that if in the coming changes of, my life we should be again thrown into each other's neighborhood, I hoped we should meet as before, for I should always be his "same old friend Helen." He wrote to me, in reply, contrary to my expectations and hopes, a note which I will enclose to you. I think it is a noble note and I think too, that neither you nor any of my friends, or indeed his own, do Mr. Everett justice. But I must not write so for I can see that peculiar smile on your face, and I don't want to be laughed at, when I have just "been being a good girl"! But I am so glad I have done it, dear Mr. Palmer. Mrs. Kexford story of her own marriage was the climax in the way of argument I will admit, but that would never have convinced me had it not been for your advice. I feel light hearted now, when I think of you, dear dear Mr. Palmer, for I do not feel, as I perhaps imagined, that I am ungratefully, and wickedly persisting in my own way contrary to the advice of my best friend on earth the one to whom I know I owe more than any thing now living.

I had no idea when I began this letter that I should to prolong it. I must say two or three words more, although I know gentleman hat cross writing. Please give my love to Mrs. P. Lu, and Hattie, and tell Lu, I owe her ten thousand apologies about her straw hat. It was dent up, and I put it away on a bandboy, and in the haste of parking, forgot it entirely. I will bring it on when I come in the spring, or if she prefers, will send it by express. It was unpardonable careless in me to have forgotten it, but I can offer no excuse. Will you be able to write to me before long, dear Mr. Palmer, or do you legislative duties keep you hurried all the time. Be assured that when the letter does come, it will be most joyfully received by

Your affectionate and grateful ward

Helen

No 43 Lafayette Place, Sunday Morning March 3, 1850

[hand written on the top of the page not by HHJ: From N.Y. Abbott School, a spiritual autobiography]

My dear Mr. Palmer,

I have resolved that I will this morning, commence that letter which once I burned and once tore up, and third time left unfinished. Whether on no [sic] this will have a better fate than its predecessors, remains to be proved. I cannot tell why I find it so very difficult to write to you on this subject; it is not hat I am in the least unwilling that you should know easy feeling of my heart on this subject, for never in my life have I had a friend to whom I could speak so unreservedly as I did to you at Springfield. But for some reason or other it is very hard for me to resolve to begin and tell you all the circumstances which have conspired to bring my mind to its present state. However, I will do it. You have been kinder to me than almost any friend I ever had. I can never tell you how grateful my heart is for the affectionate sympathy you have ever shown me, and the least I am do in return, is to give you my whole confidence on all subjects.

I cannot remember the time when my mind was not exercised more of less, at intervals of greater or less length, on religious subjects. I recollect at a very early age having serious doubts of the truth of the Scriptures which I doubted. I mention this fact only to show the degree of thought which I bestowed upon religion & at how early an age. But I do not remember any particular time at which I was especially interested, until the first summer I spent at Pittsfield. I was then in my thirteenth year. There was no religions interest in the school. Nothing to arouse my attention, but the thoughts which were already familiar to my mind recurred more and more frequently until I was in a state of deep distress. I do not know, now, the peculiar character of my feelings, nor how long they continued, but I, as I thought sincerely, obtained a hope, and for a short time was happy, as I have never been since. Mr. Tyler, and others, as I know from letters which I have since seen, considered my case a hopeful one, and my poor father and mother were so rejoiced. In the fall I returned home. I remember distinctly that on that birthday, my thirteenth, I made a written dedication of myself to God. My mother's death took place in February, and that was the event which showed me only too plainly that my heart was still unreconciled. I tremble sometimes now when I think of the bitterness and opposition which raged in my spirit, as I saw my dear mother's form laid under the cold wet snow. But there I clung for a few months to my groundless hope. Then, at last, I gave it up in despair, and the sickness, which compelled my father to remove me from Pittsfield during the following summer, was more owing to my mental struggles, than to any of the causes to which any physicians ascribed it. Then you know I went to Falmouth. The last winter that I was there, I revival commenced in Uncle Hooker's society. I was so opposed to it that uncle H. felt it to be his duty to withdraw me in a measure from society, on account of my influence. This galled me, provoked me, and at the same time frightened me. I was shocked at the depth of my hatred to the cause of Christ. I trembled to think that I was not only far from Heaven myself, but was unwilling that others should be Christians. I strove in vain to conceal all that I felt. As soon as uncle Hooker found out what was passing in my mind, he took every means possible to increase my anxiety. He talked with me, hour after hour, all to the effect that I was the most depraved of all sinners, was in the most imminent peril, &c, &c, until not to weary you with a long detail, I was fairly frightened into what I thought an actual submission of my own will and a resolution to be a Christian. The hope which I obtained at Pittsfield I never could account for on any other supposition than that of the actual influence of the spirit; at Falmouth it was different. As I took back upon it now, I can see clearly that it was merely an excitement, fanned and stimulated to the highest pitch by external agencies, until, from mere exhaustion, some rest must follow. I had been too religiously brought up to find any repose, in deliberately giving up the subject, therefore I must find it in a nominal submission. At the same time, it was more like the physical exhaustion which follows intense and excited mental exertion, than like any thing else. I had wept and prayed, and felt and done, all, it seemed to me, that I could and I felt that if I were not a Christian, I never should be. Still I experienced none of that hope, which I formerly felt. The change if there were any was mostly external, consisting in an attempt to perform all Christian duties, and feel as much like on e as I might be able to. This soon wore off, as a matter of course. I was at this time nearly sixteen. I went to Ipswich, and devoted my whole soul to study. It was my perfect idol, and I had now no thought of religion. My father had a great deal of ambition with regard to my education. I was his favorite child. He took the most unwearied pains in teaching me, and I now ascribe what ever mental culture I may have, to the habits which he formed in me, at a very early age. I did almost worship my father Mr. Palmer. To win a word of praise, to see him smile as he often would when I had recited a lesson remarkably well, and my highest ambition , when a child I can distinctly remember when I was not more than five years old, seeing him look significantly at mother, when I had made some rather old remark. I knew that he was proud of me, and the thought was ever before me. It was unfavorable in its influence, in some respects; it inclined me to vanity and yet it was a most powerful incentive to exertion. And perhaps after all that could hardly be called unfavorable in its influence, which led a child to bend every energy of mind and soul to the gratification of a parent. This motive was ever before me, at Pittsfield and, at Falmouth, but at Ipswich, it sprang up with renewed vigor. I never shall forget a conversation I had with him just before he sailed for the East, in which he alluded (and it was remarkable for him to indulge in any thing like settle [?] building.) To the plan which he had formed of taking me to Amherst with him, on his return from the East and there superintending the impletion of my education. My heart heat high at the thought of it, and I took an instant resolve to strain every nerve during his absence. He left us, and I bade him goodbyes with a heart almost light in the midst of its sorrow, for I saw in imagination the day when he would return in health and strength, and I should come and bring to him all the intellectual treasures I had gained during his absence. I do not think that nine months were ever devoted to study with more misery calculation of the exact amount of labor which could be accomplished in every moment than were those. And I did accomplish a great deal. I acquired a tolerably good knowledge of German. And as I know that he had often occasion to refer to books in that language. I pleased myself with the idea that I might make my knowledge of it, useful to him.) I read three new Latin authors, and so much of French that I could read any work in that language with ease. I made myself [_?] of Algebra. I devoted a great deal of time to Intellectual Philosophy, which I knew to be on e of his favorite studies. I wrote abstracts and essays upon questions in psychology, about which I should hardly dare now to open my lips, and was quite familiar, not only with most of the schools of philosophy in this country, but dipper a little into the speculation s of the german writers. I studied and answered Taylor's complete Manual of History from the Creation of the discovery of America. I also studied Battles [?] Analogy, and took lessons in Perspective drawing, and took some design sketches from nature, because he had once told me that it would be very useful to him, could I do so. I practiced regularly and made some progress in my music, and particularly endeavored to improve in composition. In July we had a vacation of two weeks, and during the last week I received the intelligence that my father was dead. Mo words can describe the sensations of loneliness disappointment and discouragement in which weighed down my spirit. I fear that I have now no motive to do, or even live. I have a very indistinct recollection of the first six months after I learned his death. It seems now line a painful dream. I am sure that I must must have been in a strange state of mind. Of course my thoughts turned to religion. I thought of my father, and I really believed that I prayed to him, whenever I attempted to pray at all. But I found in prayer and religious exercises the only consolation which afforded any relief to me, and I think now that it was more because I felt that such a course would please him, than anything else. Still I had no marked hope. But there was a great change in my conduct, and my friends were lead to feel that my affliction had been the means of turning my soul to religion. But time that softens all griefs, soothed mine, and with that my interest in religious things subsided, thus showing that my devotion was to the memory of my father, and not to the cause of religion itself. My history after I left Ipswich, is familiar to you, the first summer at Charlestown. Then six months in my dear New York home, then six in Charlestown again, and finally a return here, a series of changes which I think the history of few would equal. And now my dear Mr. Palmer, you know all my past experience with regard to this subject, and it remains only to tell you, how I now feel. I hardly know. There does not pass a day, in which I have not serious and often painful thoughts with regard to it, and yet I can hardly tell exactly what form then assume. I am afraid that now, I am unwilling to head the life of a Christian. I know that a great many things what I now do, feel, and pursue, would be inconsistent with the profession of religion, and I am not prepared to give them up. But I have another feeling apart form all this, which is much more powerful in its influence. I do not know exactly how to express it, but it lies in my mind somewhat like this. At three separate times I have been deeply interested in religion, sincerely so, for I never was guilty of any affectation in such matters, and yet it has all amounted to nothing, or worse that nothing, therefore, I must reasonably conclude that the Spirit of God had in reality nothing to do with it. I cannot hear the idea of being again lead away by my own imagination, to deceive myself, and others, and thus to incur still greater condemnation. And unless I experience something entirely different from anything I have hitherto felt, convictions more deep, more distressing, and impressions more resistless and powerful, I can have no reason to feel that the same delusive agencies are not acting upon me. I do not know that you will see my idea, and yet I hear expressed it as dearly as I know how. I do not wish again to yield to any impressions but those of the Spirit, and unless I experienced something different, I cannot be sure that I do not. And now, my dear Mr. Palmer, I have told you all, I hope that you are not tired out with my long letter. I have never spoken this freely to any person, and I need not day that I speak this to you in the strictest confidence. But to you I can tell anything.

Since I wrote the above, I have seen in the paper notice of Prof. Peabody's death. How very sudden, and how affecting it is. Why must he be called away from his wife, and those beautiful little ones, and from that newly occupied sphere, which he would have so nobly filled! Please to give my love to Mrs. Palmer, and also assure her of my most affectionate sympathy in her bereavement. It must be a great consolation to her that she visited him so recently.

I am looking forward to the last week in April, with a great deal of pleasure, for though I shall be so buried in work, with milliners and mantuamakers [?], that I shall not be able to see much of them, still it will; be pleasant to look on their faces again.

Shall I not have a letter from you soon, dear Mr. Palmer? I love very much to hear from you, though I am always afraid of drawing too heavily upon your already occupied time.

With much love to Hattie, and Lucy, and also to yourself, I am,

Your affectionate ward,

Helen.

260 Greene Street, Tues. A.M. Mar. 26/50 [1850]

My dear Mr. Palmer,

I received your very kind letter of last week, for which please to accept my most heartfelt thanks. I shall never cease to remember with affectionate gratitude your kind manner of addressing me upon that subject. You are the only person in the world excepting Mr. Abbott, who ever spoke to me on the subject of religion in a manner which did not in any respect, grate upon my feelings, and I have spoken and written to you more freely much more freely than I ever have or ever could to any one, not excepting Mr. Abbott. I cannot repay you for this, any more than for the other numberless ways, in which you have manifested a kind interest in me. I can only promise, that my confidence shall ever be as freely, affectionately, and filially given to you upon this topic, as upon any other, and say what is the deep feeling of any heart that should I ever feel still more strongly than at present, the need of an adviser and counselor who can pray for and with who can point out the path which his own footsteps have so triumphantly trod, I cannot help saying that did I not reverence your character, my love would never make me willing to confide in you as I have. I have not expressed myself well, I fear you will be displeased with my freedom, and yet I know that the real sentiment, which I have so poorly clothed, would not offend.

I suppose you have learned from Annie, or have observed, that we leave off our mourning this spring. It is rather a painful change to me, and yet I feel it to be a very desirable one indeed. We have worn it now for seven years, with the exception of a short interval before my father's death. Of course making such a decided change involves a good deal of expense, and in consequence of it, I shall be obliged to draw pretty heavily this spring. However I feel that it can be done better now, than at a time when I had all the expenses of a heavy board bill, to consume more than my income. As you know, I have earned and you do not know how important it sounds to me! $25,00, besides my board, since I left C. $ 20,00 of that I have already expended with Mrs. Abbott's advice and assistance, in articles which I shall need this spring. She makes all her purchases at wholesale stores, and has very kindly offered to take me with her, and afford me any assistance in her power, in procuring my spring outfit. In this way I shall save a great deal, as you will see when I tell you that, for that $20,00, (excuse me, for inflicting such details upon you!) I bought, half a piece of cotton, one dozen pair of hose and three dresses; an amount of goods, which according to a calculation which we made would have cost me at retail prices about $30,00. But there are still many things which I must procure. I think it would be best for me to purchase most of my dresses here, and one or two certainly of outside apparel, though bonnets and other smaller items I can attend to in the intervals of that dressmaking week! Can you send me in the course of this week or next, $40,00? I shall then from that reserve enough for my expense, home, and perhaps, (I will if I can) something more. I do not know how much confidence you have in y judgment at any rate, you will not be sorry that I make no purchases without Mrs. As advice &sanction! She is kind to me, as an own mother, could be, dear Mr. Palmer, as interested in every little detail, and ever ever ready to aid me in any way, and my only fear is that I tax her kindness too much. I am delighted to know that Mrs. P. and yourself will be in the city so soon. I shall depend on a visit from you, and hope we may return together. I go just four weeks from next Friday, that being the Friday previous to the last Monday in April.

Pleas to remember me very affectionately to Mrs. P. Harriet and Lucy, and believe me, as ever, Mr. Palmer,

Your affectionate & grateful ward,

Helen

Tues. Am. Apr. 8, 1850 [New York]

Dear Mr. Palmer,

"Oh dear" you will say "another dispatch for me from Helen"! But I will try & make it as curt, as its object will permit. Alas for the stability of human plans when they have for their foundation the intentions of any of the Abbott race! You know our plans were all nicely matured to remain here for a fortnight have to auction on the 20th & then start for Brunswick, Worcester &c. But yesterday morning Mr. John suddenly altered his plan, concluded to have the auction s a week from today, so that every body must be out of the house on Monday Next. Mrs. A. with an infant a fortnight old cannot be moved, but he thinks she can stay here through the auctions, & a little while after it, till she is stronger & they "will get along somehow"! Their furniture will none of it have reached B. by that time, but poor Jennie is to go on there with the three youngest children & Hallie & a servant, & wait till it comes. She & I had just got all our spring work in the hands of the dues maker & she says it is utterly impossible for here to finish it this week. Miss Gilman & Miss Dowse are in the same case & a more perplexed set of damsels you never saw in your life. Then it freaks up all our visits. I was to go to Mr. Foxes a fortnight from today. I cannot go a week from today, both because I cannot be ready to leave the city, & because I do not feel at liberty to anticipate this time fixed for my visit. Both Mr. & Mrs. F. have joined in Eliza's invitations, but "regret that the time of my visit will deprive them of the pleasure of seeing me" so they do not expect me to be there the week before they leave. Miss Gilman was going with me too, & she is in as great a quandary as I. Now the next question is what is the plan for this emergency. I should have profited little by the example of my associates for the past two years, were my brain dull at conceiving projects of all sorts. The one I have now, though, was suggested, as I think by a sort of Presidential chance. However I will relate it & you my good & kind guardian will judge. I received yesterday a note from my early friend and guardian angel I might almost say, Miss Lincoln (now Mrs. Rexford) of whom you have heard me so often speak, saying that she was staying at the Atlantic Hotel, with her husband (having just arrived from the West) & urging me to come& see her. Mr. John went down with me last evening & I had a most delightful visit. As soon as I mentioned this unexpected change in my plans, she proposed most earnestly that I should come & board with them there for a week. It seemed as if every thing was arranged purposely for it, for the room adjoining theirs, it to be vacated on Saturday. The price of board is $10.50, a week. Mr. John was very much pleased with Mr. & Mrs. Rexford, and says that as she has sustained such a peculiar relation always to me, is a person of such good Christian influence, &c, &c, &c & the Atlantic is a very quiet retired, though genteel house, he say no objection to the plan. I feel strongly enlisted in favor of it, at the same time as ever willing to abide by your decision. I am not sure that I ever have told you all about Miss. Lincoln. She was a teacher at Pittsfield & my roommate when I first went there. She took a mothers care & had almost a mother's love for me. You know that there my feelings were first interested in religion. She was my pastor & her prayers I shall never forget. Father was anxious I should write to her & wrote a letter to her himself, urging her to write to me. She has always done so, until for the last years & a half, we have both been such pilgrims that we have rather lost sight of each other & written but seldom. But her letters I think have been one of the chief causes of my never having been able to banish religious thoughts for any time from my mind. Just before father sailed for the East, he wrote to her, begging her to continue her kind interest in me & expressing his deep gratitude for her influence. All these things conspire to give me a very peculiar love for her, and I am sure that if you knew her, you would be most happy to have me visit her. Aunt Vinal used to day that f she could only get me with that "Miss Lincoln" she should be really about me (which you know, meant a good deal in those days!)

So, to sum up "the argument" it seems a good plan to me for three reasons. First I shall have a most delightful visit with Mrs. Rexford & have an opportunity to renew our old & confidential intimacy. 2. I cannot go to Mr. Foxes, till week after next & I am unwilling to give up my visit there (By the way Rea. Mr. & Mrs. Smalley sent me a very kind verbal invitation to visit them also.) 3. Last but not least. I have four dresses at Miss. Jones's & the days she cannot finish them this week & I have a great many other little spring arrangements to make, all of which I have left to do in this fortnight & which I cannot possibly do in the four days of this week.

There are two other plans, one is to go dutifully home to C. & stay there a few weeks & then go back to N. This I need not say to you, is most distasteful to me, I cannot fear the idea of going t o C. at all, & I am dare it will not be well for me to go there immediately after our breaking up. I told Mr. John last night that nothing but perfect solitude, or the constrained of society, can carry me through it. Nobody knows how I feel. Nobody can dream but I must not talk about it. The other plan is to make my visit to Lizzie Ordway in Lowell first. This is entirely contingent, because I do not even know that it will be convenient for her to have me visit her at all this spring. I am going to write to her today, asking her - she has often urged my coming but I do not know how she may be situated this spring. Any thing seems better to me than going back to C. so soon. I f I can go to Lowell & spend a week with Lizzie first then I can go back to Worcester & make my visit there, as I had at first intended, give up my week here & contrive some way, though I do not know what, to get my dresses sent to me at Lowell so at Worcester. It is had however, because the dresses are just the ones I shall want on my visit.

The additional expense of my stay here will be $10.50. Oh I forgot I told you that. Now dear Mr. Palmer, if you will write to me as soon as you get, and just "lay down the order of march" I shall be so grateful! Tell me if I may go with Mrs. R. or if Lizzie wishes favorably if I had better go there, if I had better go to C. Excuse my haste, I fear losing today's mail. And believe me, your aff. & grateful Helen.

[Written sideways on one of the pages:] Dear Mr. P. these are not tears, Jennie just dropped some water over my shoulders.

[16 Oct. 1850]

New York. Wed. Morning, Before Breakfast

My dear Mr. Palmer,

I have been for several days trying to get tie to answer your long and interesting letter, but for the last week I have been a person of more business, and more importance than ever before! I have not seen such an article as a moment of leisure, during all this time; and this is the way I have been hurrying out of my teens! Only think, dear Mr. Palmer, that your ward is twenty! I feel as old as the hills, and all day yesterday (my birthday) I felt just about as blue, I always am sad on a birthday, and this has been the worst one I ever encountered; such a time as it is of making good resolutions; nobody I believe, can help making resolutions then if they try; and then after a body has lived as long as I have (!) and made so many, and broken them, it comes to be rather a melancholy way of the little prospect there is of your doing any better, in the future.

But, seriously, I feel like twenty! It seems to me, twice as much of an era, as any birthday I ever had, or ever can have.

But I will not expatiate on the resolutions I have made, for I think that is one of the surest methods to break them.

Have you had, this fall, the most remarkable beautiful weather that was ever heard of, in Boston's annals? If you have, you cha sympathize with us: since our term began, which is now nearly six weeks we have not had but one unpleasant day, and then it was unpleasant only half of the day.

260 Greene Street Schoolroom

The breakfast bell interrupted my in the midst of my dissertation on the weather, dear Mr. Palmer, and I have not bad a moments time to take up my pen since then, thought it is now about half past one o'clock. My time at school is very much more fully occupied than ever before: We have no other teacher in the place of Miss Flint, and though the Senior Department is very small, both Mr. John and myself have our hands full. I hear every day six recitations in Latin, of all grades, from Virgil, down to the first pages in the grammar. But I like it, however, better than any other study.

I was quite surprised to see the notice of your brother's call to Albany. I recollected when we were that you told me something about his having preached there some time ago, and then having been very anxious to hear him settle, but I had the impression that it was quite a long time since, and that the affair was all over. Do you think he will accept the call? If my home is to be in New York for the next few years, I should like very much indeed to have them residents of Albany. Even though I might not see them during the whole time, I should not have the feeling as I now do, that I have not a single friend (out of the school circle) in the whole state. Before I left Portland, your brother asked me to write to him, and I have never intended more fully to do anything, but it has really been unavoidable. I cannot write to him, in a hurry, and I have been in a hurry ever since the term began. If you write to him soon, will you be kind enough to give my kindest love to him and to Mrs. Palmer, and also remember me to Mrs. Richardson; and say to him, that if he will permit me, I shall still retain his invitation to a correspondence, until I can find time to commence it, with at least some degree of suitableness. I believe I wrote to you about the package which Annie had in Charlestown, which I wanted to have sent on to his eldest little girl, if you had any opportunity.

I hoped to have time to write you a longer letter even than this dear Mr. Palmer, but school is now just out, and I must run. Do not think because I do not reply to all the topics of which you write, that I am either uninterested or hostile. It is not so dear Mr. Palmer. I think much of those things, but my thoughts are not such as should be written. I have read that sermon. I think it a good Orthodox discourse, but it is very repulsive to my feelings, taken in connection with the occasion. It seems to me uncourteous, and unkind, I had almost said unchristian attack on Dr. Putnam, and all who have read it here, agree with me. But we New Yorkers, are not apt, you know, to approve Boston measures!

Give my love to Mrs. Palmer, Hattie and Lucy; I have not time to write to the letter today, though I had purposed it. I will do so by my next letter.

And now, dear Mr. Palmer, hoping to hear from you again as soon as you can find leisure, I am,

Your affectionate and grateful ward,

Helen

New York Dec. 15, 1850

My dear Mr. P.

I received duly your kind letter from Albany, for which I thank you much, the more, that it was so wholly unexpected. I have been unable to answer it until today, but as I wish principally to refer to one subject of which you spoke, it may be not improper for me to do so, today. I am certainly dear Mr. Palmer disposed to speak ever freely to you, on the subject of religion, on the feelings which I myself entertain. But I never felt in such uncertainty what to say, as at the present moment. I am not sensible of any change at all since I wrote you of my new resolves; and yet I suppose it is philosophically impossible that I should be today, in precisely the same place in which I was six weeks ago. This thought troubles me, for I do not think I have advanced, and I cannot bear to think that I have gone back. Btu I am as firmly resolved as then that I will live in the daily observance of Christian duties; that even if I am never saved, I will expect as much of good influence in the world as I can. But I do not wish to make any announcement of such purposes. You will think me very strange, and perhaps inconsistent, when I tell you, that I was almost pained by the thoughts that Lucy should have observed any alteration in me; not that I am unwilling that dear Lucy should know of my feelings; not that I am unwilling all should know them, so far as the simple fact of know them is concerned; but I have (do not think me irreverent; you know I would not intentionally be so) of being regarded as a person in any of the states denominated by uncle Hooker "anxious," "under convictions," "hopefully impressed," &c. &c. &c. &c., and a still greater aversion to being addressed in the way in which such persons usually are. You spoke of my conversing with Jennie. I do not think I could by any possibilities do it. Jennie knows that my private habits now are widely different from what they have been, during the last two years, and we often make remarked to each other, and have conversations with each other which would once have been most foreign to my tally [?]; but as far sitting down to a formal and explicit statement of feelings, hopes and fears, I could not do it. We kneel at night (as I once used to alone) in perfect silence, for one prayer. Each prays for the other, I am sure, and we both know, without a work's being said that we love each other more dearly because both pray. I fear that I fail of expressing my exact sentiments on this point, and I am very anxious that you should understand them exactly; I know that they are peculiar; perhaps they are entirely wrong, but I cannot cannot help them.

In this connection, the question of my returning to Charlestown at New Years comes up; I thank you very much for telling me so fully your fears with regard to it, and if you really prefer that I should I will relinquish the plan. But I look at it in an entirely different light; it seems to me that if it had any influence in a religious point of view, it would not be an unfavorable one. Indeed I had thought of that myself, and had rather the feeling that it would be quite as well for me to spend the time there as here. A week of vacation here would be a week of trial to me, in more ways than you probably imagine, and some of which you little dream of. I want to see Annie very much, I also want to see our good Aunt Vinal. I might perhaps visit Weston for a day, as I shall have, if I go at all, more than a week's time there. Mr. John very kindly insists upon my going on the Friday night before Christmas, ie, Friday of this week, as thus I lose but two days of school and gain four at home. This letter will reach you on Tuesday Am. And now my dear Mr. Palmer, I am willing to be guided entirely by your advice. If you feel that I have better not make the visit. I hope you know me well enough to be sure that I shall cheerfully acquiesce. But if you think it on the whole not unadvisable, will you drop me a line by return of mail; it will certainly reach me on Thursday, in ample time for all preparations.

Should the weather be pleasant I should come by the Fall River route, as I prefer it so much, the car ride, always making me so tired, sick, and miserable, but if it be stormy I shall have to come by the cars on Saturday. And now, my dear Mr. Palmer, I must bid you an affectionate goodnight. I shall add a few lines tomorrow morning, on a topic of more secular interest. Till then, believe me, your affectionate and very grateful ward

Helen

[Written on side of page:] My love, if you please to Hattie, "Lu", and Mrs. P., I ought to apologize for taking up you precious time, to read so long a letter as this Helen

[Written on same letter:]

My dear Mr. Palmer,

I commence my letter again, to speak of my bill at Mr. Arnold's which will be due, I suppose on the 1st of Jan. I spoke to you of it before I left Charlestown, and mentioned my wish that it should stand until that time; partly for my accommodation, in case I might wish to send for anything to be got by Annie. Since that time have added to it but about $8 or 10. I do not know what the amount will be, but I fear, large. It dates back to the last of June, and I think that during the summer, I was, not intentionally extravagant, but thoughtless in regard to expenditures. After your talk with Annie and me the first of August, I did not purchase a single article which I did not think indispensable. But my outfit for winter was necessarily a very heavy one, because having worn mourning the last season, I had not one winter dress. I purchased all my winter dresses and every thing of that sort at Mr. Arnolds, and determined that my "salary" should meet all the expense of making, of outside garments &c. &c. I hope that it will not be an "outrageous bill" but because I have some misgivings as to the amount, and because I do feel that in regard to part of it I was extravagant, I write to you my dear guardian, in all fullness and frankness about it.

And a word about Mr. Everett. Miss Lincoln's story, (Mrs. Rexford's) which I told you half of, and a long talk which I had or rather from Mr. John about it, added to your advice, have convinced me that I had better not correspond with him. But Mr. John said that I ought not to discontinue it suddenly without assigning any reason & he advised me to gradually drop it. So I have began, and have dropped two opportunities in succession of writing him, and I shall not write him before I go (if I go). Am I doing right? You must forgive me for so long holding my own foolish opinions! When I see you, I will tell you all about my conversations with Mrs. Rexford, and how convictions dawned on me at every step. Dear Mr. Palmer, if I am ever or ever anything good or right, next to those who sleep now, but who have left their teachings in the heart of their child, so that she cannot long do wrong, and be at ease, I shall owe it to you. I do every day thank God, for making you care for me! Goodbye! Yours ever affectionately Helen

New York Tues. P.M. Feb. 25, 1851

My dear Mr. Palmer

I received your letter in due season, and very joyfully, for I had been awaiting its arrival. You must excuse my replying after an interval so much shorter than the one which elapsed between my last letter and your answer, for I have one or two matters of comparative moment to discuss. You ask in you kind letter if you shall not hear from me as some as anything turns up for the future; most assuredly, my dear Guardian, everything that happens of any important interest to me, I tell you, and perhaps I ought to have written to you before this to say that I could say nothing, in regard to our plans. Until last week it was not absolutely certain that Mr. John would leave New York before the first of July, and in that case, of course it would have been unnecessary for me to make any new arrangement before the fall. There have been plans and projects innumerable and indescribable for remaining here, until summer, but now I think it is beyond all question that the school will break up on the fourth of April, and although it is a better thing to me to leave New York, I believe I am glad on the whole that the matter is settled. Suspense and uncertainty are so uncomfortable. I expect to remain here for a week or ten days, or perhaps longer, and come on with Jennie when she goes on with children to Brunswick, as she will be obliged to do on account of her mothers health. This will put the terminus of my New York life for the present, at about the middle of April. Where next! This has been the thought with me for the winter, sometimes in sadness and almost discouragement; sometimes in hope and lust. I thought at first that I could not leave New York and for a time I had a hope (with also a strong presentiment that I should be unhappy there) that I could go to Mr. Gorham's. This seems out of the question. He is so full of teachers, that he cannot make room for their cousin Miss Gilman, and will need in the spring rather to diminish those increase his number. And moreover, I am now convinced that my situation there would not be a congenial one at all, and not one adapted to the formation of such a disposition and character as I wish to cultivate. It would have suited me admirably two years ago when my happiness was all in myself, and my element solitary study. Other situations in New York I might perhaps obtain; still I know it is difficult, to obtain them, and again, I do not feel willing to go anywhere for the sake of staying in the city. And of late my thoughts have rather turned to Boston and particularly to Mr. Winslow's school. I have thought so seriously of it as to hold quite a long conversation with Mr. Ishes [?] in regard to it, and he has of feud to write to him, if I write to go there. But of course I should not go so far as that without consulting you, and it is a boarding as well as a day school? And if I go there, can I have a home in his family? I cannot cannot cannot unless circumstances force me to it, bear the idea of going again to live in Charlestown. I am sure it is not wise. And especially should I dislike to go to Miss Browns. But how will it seem supposing I can get a situation in Boston for Annie to be one side of Nassau [?] Bridge, and I, the other and still more how shall we feel, to be separated in so seemingly needless a way? Annie is sure that Grandpa would pay my board. I think it doubtful. Fee perhaps he would in that case I should save the $2.00 per week which you now pay for my board, and which would go towards my support. However, I have tried the two experiments of living in idleness, (or at least with no stated employment) and of working hard, and I prefer the latter. The life of a young lady in a boarding house, with no one to care for but herself, I believe must be a miserable one, if she have any feeling, (and worse if she have not.) Where a girl has home cares, duties, and joys, there is a world wide difference. I have thought some times that I would try to procure a situation in some place, as perceptives [?] of an Academy or something of that sort, and launch out into the world "to try my fortunes". Such a situation I have no doubt could get before fall. But my judgment questions much whether my physical mental or work or social constitution be fitted for such a life. I think I am in rather a singular state of mind. I never knew the time before in my life when I was not bent upon attaining some particular and in the future. Now, I can scarcely tell even what I wish. I feel disposed to be guided entirely by your advice so far as my own steps are concerned and I think I feel that the same Providence which has taken care of me for twenty years will do so still.

Your speak of Annie. I feel all and perhaps more then you express. I do not think her situation at all a favorable one. Still I cannot see that her character is even tarnished by all the adverse influences around her. I know that she is constant in all her religious duties; she is filial in her kindness to Grandpa; and though I think she has lost some of her simplicity, and a great deal of her willingness to be advised by anyone, still, I look at her, in perfect amazement. I have often told her that she has a stronger head as well as a better heart than her sister, for I am sure, had I spent the years between fourteen and sixteen, as she has spent them, I should have given my friends even more cause for distress than I did. You ask me to influence her. Dear Mr. Palmer, I wish I could make you realize that I cannot. Your do not know the peculiarity of her constitution. No one in the world can influence her, by advise or precept or any thing of that sort. Continued example I think would affect her, but that I am little fitted, even were I so situated as to exert. I think s he is peculiar in her quiet invincibleness, perfectly pleasant and amiable and yet unalterable in her course. Take this for an illustration. You have more influence than anyone else over her; as much more as you have more over me than, Mrs. Hooker! I think you told her decidedly last fall your views about her going out evenings, and with gentlemen; I understood you to almost specify the number of evenings you thought it better for her to spend in amusements. But she has done no differently. I think indeed she has gone out more frequently than last winter the only change being, that she goes seldom with Mr. E. And still she loves you much very much, and is deeply sensible of your kindness and would not for her right eye do anything wrong. But I am prolonging my letter to a most unconscionable length, and I fear writing so hurriedly that you will not be able to read it. I feel unpleasantly to think that in the midst of all your cares this winger perplexing questions about young lady words should come up. But I can only promise to be very submissive, and so exactly what you advise, or incline to advise, try to get a situation here or in the country this spring (through Mr. Wilcox the School Agent,) apply to Mr. Winslow, stay quietly in Charlestown and Weston till fall, or anything else. Almost any plan that you can propose, (if it be not to go to Falmouth or Ipswich) will find me ready for cordial adoptions. In fact, I am at times almost ready to draw lost for my next place of sojourns. Such a home such friends such happiness as I have known here, I never shall find again, and I neither expect nor desire it!

In addition to my other duties, I have been taking private lessons in French from our French teacher, for the last two months. He very kindly offered to give me private lessons, for the same price that he charges classes, and Mr. John advised me to attempt it. I am extremely glad that I did, for the knowledge may be now of great value to me and M. Lagwix is one of the best teachers I ever knew. He gives me thirty six lessons for $12.00 which is very low indeed. His terms for private pupils are $30.00 for that number of lessons. I do not expect that my salary for next quarter will cover all the expenses which I shall have before leaving the city, including this though I hope it will all else. I shall therefore be obliged to call on you for that amount and I suppose also that I have a bill at Dr. Green's for he inflicted a gash on my poor eye in January and called to see me the other day, when I had a slightest feverish attack. These are the only extras of which I know.

Will you pardon me, dear Mr. Palmer, for having written you such a document? I did not intend when I commenced to write nearly so long in one, but my pen has run on almost involuntarily. It is now nearly dinner time and I must hurry home, else I fear I should fill this sheet.

Will you write me as soon as you can spare time from your many avocations, and with love to Mrs. Palmer, Hattie and Lue, (and Fweddie), believe me as ever,

Your affectionate and grateful ward, Helen

260 Greene Street March 5, 1851

My dear Mr. Palmer,

I have just received you letter of yesterday and am robbing my employer of a little time to commence a reply to it. I am hesitating a little as to the possibility of making you understand exactly, by letter, my feelings in regard to you proposition of my going to Albany. I appreciate highly you kindness in suggesting and Mr. and Mrs. Ray Palmer's kindness in adopting it, and offering so readily to invite me there for a while and still I should feel very unpleasantly at the idea of going under the circumstances, indeed I do not think I could go. I am aware that this may strike you as a great want of gratitude to you both; but I hope that you will better understand my feelings. It is not that I am not attached to both Mr. Ray and his wife; nor that I have the slightest doubt of this perfect sincerity cordiality, and kindness; perhaps I am unduly sensitive, but I have a horror of forcing myself or being forced (either by other people or by uncontrollable circumstances) upon persons who are bound to me by no ties but those of common acquaintance and friendship. I have a still greater horror of soliciting in any way, any situation in the family of friend. So be obliged to seek the situation of a teacher I find it more humbling to my pride than I had supposed it possible, for so professional a step to be. So you must forgive Helen (if it does not meet your views) for saying that under the circumstances, the plan (though a most generous and kind one) of here going to Albany, is one, which it would wound her deeply to accede to.

My mind has now about settled on these plans! (quite a definite settlement by the way is it not?). The first is to obtain if possible a situation in Mr. Winslow's school in Boston. If it cannot be done this spring, to apply now for next fall. So this end, Mr. John has kindly written a letter to Mr. Winslow who is a personal friend of his, making divers statements about me, some of which, it may be confidentially whispered are very highly colored; How ever, I believe that is the principle on which all advertisements are worded! I enclose the letter to you, as I thought it possible you might think it better to see him, and dive the letter with the additional weight of your ability to ensure necessary questions "as to age, qualifications for business &c. &c., or, at any rate, would be more likely to ensure its reaching him through the City Post there, than through the post office. Could I get a situation there with a good salary I should be glad. Should you approve, I think I should be happier in Mr. W's family than elsewhere, always excepting the contingency of Annie's and Grandpa's moving to good quarters in Boston. I might perhaps temporarily board at Miss Ann's and walk over with Annie, trusting to time and perseverance to move Grandpa back to Boston. (This is case I could go there in May). In case I should not go there till fall, I should prefer to come on in April and spend some weeks at Weston and divide my time till September between Weston Charlestown (and Amherst? Annie has a strong Amherst project for the summer, as usual!) and perhaps traveling some ( and Brunswick - I forgot for the moment, strangely, that Mrs. Abbott has invited me to visit there at Commencement time.) (This is my third plan also, in case, Mr. Winslows school fail, and another plan which I am now to speak of with the exception of course that instead of resting quietly in anticipation of going to work in Sep. I shall be looking about for a situation.)

The other plan is this. Mr. John reserved a letter last week from Pennsylvania, making inquires for a teacher to take charge of some sort of a school in Wilkesbarre in the valley of the Wyoming (poetical, you know!) The letter contained few particulars, the only one of much interest being the statement that the salary would be from three to five hundred dollars, according to " the skill and popularity of the teachers". He has written making particular inquires, and we shall probably hear in a few days. Perhaps it may turn out a situation which I should much dislike, and it may be a pleasant one. At any rate, if I cannot get a situation at Mr. Winslows, and this promises tolerably well I had rather take it, that wait all summer in suspense looking for another. Do not shake your head dear Mr. Palmer, I really believe I could succeed if you were once fairly enlisted, and at any rate I feel a strong inclination to make the attempt. However, this case be discussed hereafter. But I thought better to write at once, and tell you all this, before you had written that longer letter which you were kind enough to promise me.

And now dear Mr. Palmer, if in addition to all you other kindnesses, you will procure for me a decisive answer from Mr. Winslow, and also write me word (if I cannot go to Mr. W's) that I had better go to Pennsylvania, and if I cannot go there if you will pardon my coming home instead of accepting the kind proposal of my sojourns in Albany. I shall be (as I shall be if you do not do my premises do not amount to much after all!) Yours most gratefully and affectionately

Helen

P.S

I can be in Boston if necessary or desirable; the eighth of April. But I should prefer much to have a vacation till the first of May. My kindest remembrances to Mrs. Palmer, Hattie, and Lucy. And if you see my good sister Annie, tell her that I am anxiously awaiting the arrival of some evidence of her existence either a letter, or certain articles which I sent for ten days ago, and which have not yet made there appearance! H.M.F.

Worcester April 29, 1851

My dear Mr. Palmer,

When I left New York on Friday evening of last week, I expected most fully that at this time, a letter would have reached Boston informing you of my change of residence. But all day Saturday and Sunday I was sick by way of making a favorable impression on my friends and enjoying myself into the bargains! And yesterday I took two rides, and felt board to make myself agreeable the rest of the time! I left New York, as I expected to leave it, with an aching heart and a full eye. Mr. John very kindly in the midst of all his hurry went to the depot with me, and rode as far as Astor Place. After he was out of sight, I closed my eyes, and did not open them till we were far far from New York. I had realized it before, but not as I did then. Since the auction, and my removal to the Atlantic, New York life had seemed so strange to me that it has taught me more fully then weeks would of residence anywhere else, the truth that my La Fayette Place home is no more. But as I bade Mr. John goodbye, and felt that we should probably never again meet in New York, the whole weight of the words, "separation" and "forever" fell upon me. I do not believe it is common for people to love a place where they have resided so short a time as I love New York! I do not believe that I can ever love another home now that I have lost a second.

Mr. and Mrs. John left New York last night for Boston but the Fall River route, and proceeded to Brunswick today or tomorrow I suppose. At least Mr. John wrote me on Saturday that such was his plan. The vessel which sailed first with the greater part of his furniture on it has been wrecked. There is a possibility (but little prospect) that the think may be recovered, though of course in a damaged state. The organ, secretary, carpets (new) for the whole house, piano, Mrs. A.s whole wardrobe of dresses, were in it. Such facts as these admit of no comment!

I am enjoying every moment of my visit and do not feel in any haste to see Charlestown, though I do want to see Annie, but I suppose I had better return sometime next week. Eliza and all the family declare I shall not think of going until three or four weeks, but of course I should not think of staying quite so long on a first visit especially as I have no home in which to return the courtesy. They are a very pleasant family plain and unaffected as Hadley farmers, but living in the midst of everything which wealth cane supply. The house is a beautiful one, much in the style of some on the Hudson, and in the vicinity of Boston, large grounds, quite tastefully laid out though as yet new, carriages, horses, &c, &c. I think the house is planned on the whole better than any in which I ever was, for convenience and elegance united. But I must not stop now, to give you plans of houses, for I must write to Annie tonight as I have really neglected the child, and it is growing late.

I received the $40.00 in your last letter, for which I thank you, ever deploring the necessity of the favor! If these be any immediate necessity, in regard to Mr. Winslow, or any other matter, why I should hurry home this week, or the first of next, will you please to write and let me know? Or, in case any such necessity do not exist, but you have a space moment from the dates of trade and legislation, you known how delighted I should be to hear from you. Address simply, care of Wm. B. Fox Jr. Worcester, and I shall not fail to get it.

With love to Mrs. P. and L& H. and much very much to yourself. I am as ever you grateful and affectionate Helen.

P.S. I have just go t back form a long drive with Mr. Fox in an open buggy, like the one I rode to Bath in. We took that so that I could see the country. Worcester is a beautiful place, beautiful, still I would not live there. "Not here, oh not here!" Helen

Worcester, May 14, 1851
Office of Wm. B. Fox and Sons

My dear Mr. Palmer,

One more letter from Worcester! And only one for I really begin to feel that you will thank them too frequent. I have been here just three weeks, and shall have written you just as many letters which is rather a rapid rate of correspondence. However you will perhaps pardon my prolixity, as it is the last flood of it with which your writing desk will be visited, for some time to come, since the distance between Charlestown and Boston is hardly sufficient to provoke epistolary communication. But the other mode of expression which must take the plan of letter writing, will perhaps be as unendurable! I write in the "office" of the great woolen mill, as you will perceive from the date of my letter; (by the way have I ever forgotten to date my letters since you spoke to me of it?) because we have just been going over the buildings, marking the devastation of the terrible storm of last evening, and Mr. Fox said if I would write my letter here and leave it he would have it sent right up to the office. Did you have a thunder storm or rather tempest last night? We had here one of the most violent which have ever been known in Worcester. It was really magnificent; and my only request is that I was not in a good situation to enjoy the full grandeur of the scene. The day had been sultry and summer like, and towards night the heavy gray and white clouds begin to gather in the horizon and overhead, while conspicuous in the midst of them, came one large and blacker than midnight darkness. This was about five, and we supposed we were at once to have a shower, but it passed over, seemingly with a heavy shower at the north, and the sky partially cleared, and the brightness of the setting sun gave promise of a pleasant evening. After tea Eliza and I started for a walk into town to put a letter into the office, (a distance of about a mile,) expecting to have a delightful walk and return in the clear moon light. We had gone but about half of the distance, when suddenly the air grew still almost frightfully still; the heavens assumed the strangest aspect, dark clouds with glistening white streaks in the midst of them, rising with startling rapidity in the south west, in the west and north west, banks of clouds of a fiery red, overhead a confusion of light and dark clouds, hurrying back and forth as if shuffled by a hasty hand for the amusement of lookers on, through the whole a pale glimmer from the large white moon, always quite high and in the midst of the strange stillness, a low murmur like very distant surges on the sea side. Just as we reached the office, for we thought it better to keep on and reach Main St where we could find a shelter at every stop, it began to sprinkle, we dropped in our letters, and then ran "for dear life" a little farther up, to the office of Dr. Rufus Woodward (son of the hospital man) who is very intimate at Mr. Foxes, indeed so much so that he seems like one of the brothers. We found the outer office empty, and the inner door locked, he had gone to tea. However at that instant, came the crack, ran in furious torrents, thunder, lightning, and rattling hail all in our warring Mass; it was dark so dark that we could hardly distinguish objects in the street though it was not 7 o'clock, and the wind shook the windows with terrific violence. We sat alone in large arm chairs, awaiting our fate. In a moment more, a rally of hail stones against the windows broke panes of glass in both of them and then the scene in the little room was really startling; the darkness deepened, until nothing could be seen but one torrent of water torrent of water rushing down like a cataract let loose, the hail rattled like musketry and in the entry below lay piled up like nuts after an autumn gale. The thunder sounded above the whole like the hideous laughter of some demon spirit who had looked all these terrible elements to carry out his own purposes of destruction; while the lightening flashed incessantly, and disclosed here and there a form flying as if pursued by and avenger, and lit up the sky above which seemed literally torn in the conflict. This lasted for about seven or eight moments and then subsided into a hard shower. Dr W. soon returned and admitted us into his parlor where we found better quarters and from the front windows had a much better view of the scene. As soon as the storm had abated sufficiently we sent for a carriage and rode home. Here we found Patrick (the man) just starting after us in the carriage. But we lost so much in not being at home during the tempest. Mr. Fox's houses is situated on elevated ground and the storm was very much more severe in this part of the town than it was on Main Street. Jennie said she took refuge in the middle of the hall, with her little sister on one side, her brother on the other, and the Irish girls in the rear, and then they stood in darkness listening to the driving of the gale and the cracking of the glass. The horses in the barn too were almost frantic, as the windows were all dashed in just under their very noses, and it was impossible to go near them. I believe there is hardly a room in the house in which the glass is not more or less broken and the glass in the front door which is beautifully stained is sadly marred. The mills are a curiosity, and the buildings about them. One would thing that there had been a siege or a mob; it reminds me of the poor Opera House in New York the morning after the riot. In the two mills there are between two and three thousand panes broken! Some of the windows not only have not a whole pane left, but have not a fragment of glass left in them, a volley of musketry could not have riddled them more completely. The hail stones were many of them large as birds eggs, round and polished and hard adamant. But the worst destruction is in the garden; all Jennie's beautiful verbenas are either broken or torn up buy the roots. The fruit trees all half stripped of their flowers, the shrubs broken and defaced, and every thing wearing the most melancholy tired out expressions. It is quite an "era" in my life. I have now one thing less to see for the first time!

Eliza has just come down for me to go into town with her and as she is impatient I must close my long letter. You will think perhaps that I wrote for the express purpose of giving you a bulletin of the storm, but I did not; that was merely accessory; and the object of my letter was to ask you to be kind enough to send me $3.00 by Thurs. or Friday and to assure you of my arrival in Boston on Sat eve. next at six o'clock, "unforeseens always expected." I need not say that it would give me the greatest pleasure, if the first features recognized in Boston, be those of my beloved guardians, and I need not repeat again that nothing would pain me more than to have that pleasure conferred at the expense of inconvenience to you. I am an "ancient pilgrim," and dread not any species of railroad "way fare." And now, goodbye dear Mr. Palmer. You will owe me, three good long afternoon visits after I get home, shall you not? However, I expect I shall have to rob the treasury and pay myself, by making the visits myself! Please give my kindest regards to Mrs. P. Hattie and Lu, and believe me,

Yours, as ever, affectionately,
Helen.

P.S. excuse my manufacturers envelope! Helen

Charlestown Sat. P.M. Sep. 20, 1851

My dear Mr. Palmer,

Having a letter gap this afternoon, some things being done, and there not being time to begin others, I have concluded to sit down and write you a letter. I do not see how I shall be able to have very much of an interview with you, during this week and still I have mush much to say. But there, you know I am quite accustomed to doing business with you, but means of much pen as an interpreter, and indeed, there are some things of which I can easier write, than speak. I hope however that you will not anticipate a letter of even ordinary interest, for the matters of which I must treat, an common place, dull, dry, to me hateful: you will at once infer by the adjectives in the above line, that I refer to money matters. I have been for the last few days thinking over all the questions connected with my "affairs" as the merchants say, and I have wanted an opportunity to talk at length with you about them.

I do not want to be extravagant; but at the same time, I think that I have been, very much so, in some particulars, and I think that it will be the hardest thing in the world for me to begin to be tolerably economical. And it is peculiarly hard to begin when I am going as I am this fall, to spend a winter in a fortunate city, and go into more society probably than I have every been in before. But still I am willing to try; at any rate to do is much as this, to fix on a certain amount, beyond which, in my personal expenses (by which I mean dress &c,) I will not go. But there are a good many reflections in connections with it, which I want to state fully and frankly to you, so that you will see all that I see, in helping me come to a decision.

In the full plan, I have looked back for the last two years, and endeavored to make some accurate estimate of my yearly expenditure. I had $100 a year from Mr. John; (and this always disappeared like dear in sunshine.) Then I had at least $150 from you, for you remember, I had each year nearly $100 worth of things at Mr. Arnolds, besides the money you sent me. The money grandpa used to give me, would be moderately estimated at $75 a year; for the last half year it has been in a greater proportion, but then I have not had my salary, so perhaps the average would be pressured by counting it at $75. Here are at least, and I know I have made a moderate estimate, $325, which I have spent each year, myself, and for what, I must admit, I am sure I cannot tell. My wardrobe does not at all correspond with such an expenditure. I am confident that if I had calculated on such an amount, and had it regularly, it would have been laid out to better advantage, but the trouble was, and has been with both of us, that we have had a sort of feeling that all the money in grandpas purse, was a fund by itself, sometimes accessible, and sometimes not, to be spent on notions, while all real wants were to be else where supplied. This, it seems to me, has been our great fault. Then another is, that I have spent too much for little things, like (example details) ribbons, collars, &c. which cost but little in themselves, but which amount to a good deal. This I am sure, has swallowed up a great portion of the $300. There the third thing is not a fault exactly, and I am sure I don't know how I can help it, and that is the unfortunate rapidity with which I wear out shoe leather. There is no mistake about the fact that I, of necessity, spend about twice as much for boots as most girls do. I remember while I was in New York, I paid two bills at Wads (my shoemakers) of over $20 each, and that did not include all I had either year. Since I came from N.Y. I have paid Mr. Carleton $12.50, and I must pay him $5 more, before I go away. But in this one particular I do feel that I can acquit myself of any needless expenditure. It is a misfortune and I must get a long with it. I am not sure, but I had better keep a carriage as a cheap way of remedying this evil! These are the three great evils of which I have thought in regard to the past. The first I shall not have to avoid, during the coming year; the last I cannot help, and the other, I must and will strive against.

In view of all these facts, and of all the ten thousand things which a girl can foresee. I really feel as if I were undertaking quite an arduous task, to strictly keep myself within a specified and reasonable amount, for the next year, especially, just as I am going to be situated. But do not understand me, dear Mr. Palmer, as pleading off. On the whole I decidedly prefer to try the experiment. But I want you to appreciate all the lions in my way!

I have felt as if in consideration of all these circumstances, I might do myself the kindness, of getting a good outfit this fall, before starting on my self denial system. I have looked over all the ground, and I can tell now very nearly what my expenses must be, before starting for Albany. In the first place I have procured me a good outfit of all under garments; the materials for all there I purchased a Mr. Arnolds, and they together with some other articles which I have purchased along through the summer, when you were away, or grandpa was short &c, will make a bill of perhaps between $20 & $30. I shall be obliged to get one pair more of boots, and that with one pair for which I always owe, will be $5. I think I shall actually need at Albany a handsome dark silk, and the idea of getting a silk dress this winter, out of my allowance, seems actually preposterous. What this will cost, I cannot of course tell, no, but I shall purchase it early next week and bring the bill to the store. It certainly will not be over $25. Then I shall have a dressmakers bill, which I am afraid will not be ready to be paid till the day before we go. I have only three dresses to be made, and under Boston dressmakers are very much more exorbitant then Miss Jones, it will not be over $10. Then there are two articles which I shall want, if you do not think them too superfluous, from the store, one of which I wrote for this summer; a handsome fan, and a nice shell rack comb. A heart pin too of some sort, I really think I need. The one I wear is an old one of mother's, and the little anchor I got, has no point to the pin, besides not being anything more than pretty, after it is dressed [?] in! Then there is one thing to be done which will be an item of expense to both Annie and me, in the line of Daguerreotype Aunt Vinal and Helen Tufts both want me of each of us; each of us must have one of the other. $10 will cover the whole I think. I owe some still for sewing, but Mr. Charles Vinal says that he will pay that bill to Miss Brown with the house bill, as it will do no harm, and will save us a little. These are all the expenses which I shall have to meet before I consider myself as fitted out for Albany. There is one thing more which I shall need, but cold weather, and which I do not see how I can afford to get "an allowance," and that is, a set of furs. In the climate of Albany I shall certainly need them. You know nice furs are very expensive, and I do not want any that are not nice. I think I shall have to stipulate beforehand, that they shall be thrown in!

And now comes the great, great, all next year involving question how much shall I restrict myself in my personal expenditures? I want to be guided by your advise; by your ideas of what I ought to do, of what will be consistent with my situation, my age, my expectations. I do not want however to set my mark so low, that I shall be continually cramped, harassed (for I will keep within the sum, I finally set, if I have to go ragged!) and made uncomfortable, by the thought, "when withal shall I be clothed"! Lucy tells me that she and Hattie have $150 a year, but that they are relieved by parental presents, from some of their heavier necessities, cloaks &c, and that also a good many little gifts like collars and handkerchiefs find their way home from New York, free of cost. Now, such things as these make a whole world of difference. I do not know but I will promise to live on $150 a year, if you will promise to let our estate make me a present of $5 worth of collars and cuffs now and then, and cloaks and furs in their season! And yet I do not believe that, even then, for the first year, at any rate, I could get along on that. It would be less than one half, of what I have been in the habit of having, and a reduction of one half, is a pretty severe descent. I am sure the idea frightens me of when I could save $150 a year! Girls at home can do more economically in ten thousand ways than one can situated as I have been and shall be, on the whole would you think that I was unreasonable if I ask (for this year at least) $225, as my allowance for dress, and such little matters a would naturally come into daily expenditure. I do not know but I could live on less; and if you really think I ought to, I will try to try, but it seems to me, as if even on this, I should often have an empty purse by the end of the quarter. Grandpa pays me $400 a year; of that, $250 goes for board; on a rough estimate $50 for washing; that leaves me just $100. Thus I take of my own monthly only$125 a year for dress &c. My traveling expenses in the summer, and my tuitions in painting on any other branches that I might want to pursue, would not be more than $100. And in the summer, while visiting, boarding in the country (Amherst!) &c, I should save somewhat from the first amount $250 specified for board. So I should spend at the outside only $250of my own money, a year; and I suppose I have enough to last, at that rate, at least, three years. Within that time some change will most likely take place. It is not pleasant to anticipate, and still in some circumstances a person seems to be justified in so doing. If grandpas life should be continued as long as that, his mind will be entirely gone; indeed I think it more than improbable that at the end of another year, he will know whether he is the possessor of thousands or a beggar. His faculties have failed perceptibly during each interval that I have not seen him.

And now my dear, dear, kind guardian, I believe I have gone over all the ground with you, that I have gone over, in thought alone. I love to have a good, full, fair laying down &out or all such practical matters; and if I make mistakes I want to be told of them! But I need not in closing this long letter, accuse you, that whatever you may see reasons for advising in regard to any point herein mentioned, I shall at once and cordially adapt. I hope you know, dear Mr. Palmer, that that point is forever established in the head, and the heart of Your ever affectionate and grateful ward

Helen

Albany, Sabbath Evening, Nov. 9, [18]51

My dearest guardian,

I have rarely had a greater disappointment in the epistolary line, than I experienced last Sabbath in not being able owing to an inflamed eye to write to you. I had been calculating for more than a week to write to you on that evening, and I had a heart full of things to say. It has been a little unusual for me to be a debtor so long at least to you; but my hours and days have been so wholly occupied that I have been obliged to write hurried letters t