“It is a dark, sloppy, rainy, muddy, disagreeable day, and I have been working hard all day in the kitchen, washing dishes, looking into closets, and seeing a great deal of that dark side of domestic life which a housekeeper may who will investigate after a girl who keeps all clean on the outside of cup and platter, and is very apt to make good the rest of the text in the inside of things.... I am sick of the smell of sour milk, and sour meats, and sour everything; and then the clothes will not dry, and no wet thing does, and everything smells mouldy; and altogether I feel as if I never wanted to eat again.” After enlarging upon her troubles further in the same whimsical vein, she added gravely, “Yet do I rejoice in my God, and know in whom I have believed, and only pray that the fire may consume the dross; as to the gold, that is imperishable. No real evil can come to me, so I fear nothing for the future, and only suffer in the present tense. God, the mighty God, is mine, of that I am sure, and I know that He knows that though heart and flesh fail, I am all the while desiring and trying for His will alone.” As to money, for which there was imminent necessity, she said: “Money, I suppose, is as plenty with Him now as it always has been, and if He sees it is really best, He will doubtless help me.” At one time her husband wrote that he was sick a-bed and all but dead; he did not ever expect to see his family again; wanted to know how she would manage in case she was left a widow; he knew she would get into debt and never get out; he wondered at her courage, thought she was very sanguine, warned her to be prudent, as there would not be much to live on in case of death, etc., etc. This letter Mrs. Stowe read and poked into the fire. Then she proceeded with her writing. “You are not able just now to bear anything, my dear husband,” she replied; “therefore, trust all to me; I never doubt or despair. I am already making arrangements to raise money.” Now, how was the little woman to “raise money”? Of course by writing. Certain of her friends, pitying her trials, copied and sent a number of her sketches to some liberally paying _Annuals_ with her name. With the money earned in this way she bought a feather-bed! This was considered a profitable investment, and if the Shakespearean fashion of mentioning a treasured bed in the codicil of a will were to be followed, it might be suggested that here would be found the article most deserving of mention as an heirloom in successive testaments!