O how happy I once was! Had a pretty home and everything to brighten it. But alas, they have vanished and now I feel alone, without anything. Did I say "alone?" No, not so, for the God that I have served and who has been with me these twenty years, is still with me; and I feel to say, "Though he slay me, yet will I trust him." I feel that he will open up a way for his children. Now, my dear sister, I would love to see you again in this life and talk with you, but if I never meet you here I trust I shall meet you above, where your voice will be heard with the angels of God. Please remember me to your lady helper. Would be glad to hear from you at any time. Good-bye. Yours in love and the hope of heaven, ---- ----. Two years later, while in the same city, a friend invited me to go to an open-air service and after I had sung and spoken to those who were gathered a dear lady clasped my hand and said: "I am so glad to see you, mother--don't you know me?" As I failed to recognize her she turned her careworn but lovely face so that the electric light shone full upon her and said, "Don't you remember me now?" When I still answered "No, I do not," the tears gathered in the dear eyes as she said, "My husband never forgot your singing and your prayers before he went away," and then it dawned upon me that she was the wife of the man the people hung to gratify the saloon men's greed. She said: "I do wish I could ask you home with me, but I have only a little hall room for myself and children. I am keeping boarders to make a living for myself and them." O how I wished for a home to which I could welcome them, but I, too, am a pilgrim and a stranger, and all I could do was to kiss the dear sister and commend her to the widow's God and her dear ones to the Father of the fatherless. The letters following are from two brothers with whom I labored, and who showed much appreciation of my efforts with them and professed to be saved. I received a number of encouraging letters from them and from others in the same place before they were taken away. We can not always tell as to the sincerity of these poor men, or of their responsibility, some of them doubtless are so nearly unbalanced in mind, under such a strain, but we know the God of heaven before whom we must all stand will judge righteously. October 18, 1903. My Dear Mother Wheaton: