The summer of '76 passed slowly away, she regaining health slowly. Her hair, which all came out with the typhoid fever, grew in rapidly, and again black. In August of that year she wrote as follows: "We are all well as usual. Theoph is here, and Lizzie is coming to day, and Bishop Payne Saturday. We had the finest pic-nic yesterday we have had for a long time. * * * I shall be to see you week after next, if I don't go home with Theoph; and if I do, I will be there the week after. I am going to Campmeeting now." She went home with "Theoph," passing a week in Brooklyn and going from there to Philadelphia. Her deep interest in the welfare of her children, and her complete resignation to the will of God are so apparent in these letters, as scarcely to need a hint. She has laid all on the altar and dare not take it off. She counts not herself "_worth a sacrifice_." What further self-denial can be asked? What further consecration possible? From her visit to Brooklyn she went to Philadelphia, stopping a week at the latter place with her daughter, Mrs. Felts, and remarked while there, that she was taking a rest after her severe summer's labor, and was also visiting her children for the last time, unless called to them by sickness. While in Philadelphia she visited the great Centennial Exposition, and called on many of her friends in the city. On the Sabbath, it was her intention to visit "Old Bethel" _once more_, but the day being stormy, she was disappointed. Her two weeks vacation, she said, saved her from an attack of sickness, and she passed the following winter in quite good health. She wrote me towards spring, saying she was rapidly gaining in flesh and had not been sick a day since her visit.