On the 13th of February 1876, having recovered sufficiently, she wrote to her daughter as follows, writing with her own hand: "Dear Alice. The cloud indeed passed away, and I am much better; I am sorry I troubled you, and made you sad (alluding to a previous letter in which she expressed no hope of recovery), but I thought it best then. I guess I will get well now, if nothing else happens. Father will not let me go out of the room yet; he is very well; he went to a donation party to Mr. Faucett's last night. You need not be uneasy about me, I am well cared for and do not wish you to come to me. I think it would be out of your duty and you know I always say 'duty before pleasure;' and besides, 'Aunt Lydia' has been with me and will come again if I need her. * * * * The people like Mr. Faucett better than they did. I cannot advise you about coming East. * * * You must both make it a subject of prayer, but don't come for my sake; _I am not worth a sacrifice_; and besides I have sacrificed you all to the Lord. (See February 6th 1876.) I have laid all of you, with all that I have, on the altar; all my dearest affections, and you among the dearest; so you see I can't take you back." And in this letter she adds "here is the last bit of my hair." The same date she wrote to her son-in-law, Rev. C. C. Felts as follows: Dear Cethe:--I like to forgot, I had something to say to _you_. I must answer your _grumbling_ as best I can, for I don't like _grumblers_ any way. (Mr. Felts had written, that his room was so small that he could not walk across without moving things out of the way to make a passage, etc., and otherwise alluding to his poverty. Of course the correspondence was rather jocosely conducted.) She continued: 1st. You forget how much larger your room is than the cross was; and how many things the Saviour had to move out of the way; you forget also how much larger those mansions in glory will appear. 2d. You forget, too, that your bread shall be given and water sure; and having food and raiment, therewith to be content. 3d. You forget, too, that he that goeth forth weeping, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless return again, bringing his sheaves with him. Sow thy seed in the morning, in the evening withhold not thy hand, for thou knowest not which shall prosper, this or that. The other side looks so bright, I have no comments. MOTHER.