It has been stated that Miss Larcom was barely able to support herself by her writings. She realized, like many another author, that Mr. Whittier’s words were true when he wrote her that “the hardest way of earning bread and butter in this world is to coin one’s brains, as an author, into cash, or spin them into greenbacks.” She could, however, do very well, so long as her health was good. In addition to the copyright on her books, she received payment from the magazines for her work,--“St. Nicholas” sometimes gave her fifty dollars for an article. “Harper’s” and the “Independent” paid her the same rates as they did to “H. H.” She also contributed to “Wide Awake,” the “Christian Union,” the “Congregationalist,” and to many minor papers, like the “Cottage Hearth.” But she was subject to severe attacks of illness, which rendered her, for the time, incapable of writing. Then it was that her friends came forward to aid her; any assistance, however, she was loth to accept. This unwillingness to receive help gave rise to an interesting scene between herself and Mr. Whittier. At one time, her strength and resources had been reduced by illness. She was lying upon her couch when Mr. Whittier came, and, seating himself beside her, said, “Now, Lucy, this is altogether too bad.” “What is too bad?” “Why, that thee should work for the world all thy days, and then lie here, worrying about expenses.” “I don’t worry. The Lord has always taken care of me.” “But, Lucy, thee ought to worry. The Lord has made thee capable of caring for thyself. Why not be more practicable? I have done something about this.” “I knew you had, as soon as this talk began. Now, I thank you, but I will not touch one cent of the money you collect.” “Don’t be foolish. Thee will; and thee must not waste thy remaining strength in rebellion.” A compromise was made by her taking a pension of a hundred dollars a year, from a Quaker Home, in Philadelphia, and a few annual subscriptions--one from Mr. George W. Childs. TO J. G. WHITTIER. HOTEL BYRON, BERKELEY ST., BOSTON, MASS., February 4, 1887. MY DEAR FRIEND,--I have been away two days, and on returning, find thy note and the enclosed check for one hundred dollars. A greater surprise could not have awaited me. And, curiously enough, I had been amusing myself just before, with the thought of the great fortunes rolling about the world, without ever so much as touching me! And I had said to myself that the Great Disposer of all these things, who is also my Father, doubtless had a purpose in it,--perhaps that I was to prove to the very end that life could be very cheerful and comfortable without much money, and with unremitting effort to earn a moderate living, so long as my strength should hold out.