Into the small house built by the husband’s hands, the wife carried all the ambition and activity of other days, and at once resumed her avocation as a teacher, whilst performing the duties of maid of all work, housekeeper, and hostess. Mr. Fillmore was thus enabled to practise his profession, relieved of all care and responsibility by his thoughtful wife, and so rapid was his progress that in less than two years he was elected a member of the State Legislature. Mrs. Fillmore rendered her husband most efficient help in his struggle for eminence, and was the wings by which he soared so high. Instead of clogging his footsteps by her helplessness, she, with her intellectual strength, relieved and sustained his every effort. So enthusiastic and unchanging was her attachment to him, that no duty was burdensome, no privation sufficient to cloud her brow. The struggles those first years with poverty and increasing cares were trying, but her dignity never forsook her—her chosen path never became distasteful. Many are noble from choice, she was so from necessity. The greatness of soul and devotion to principle inherent in her nature left no other course. A letter now old and worn, written in her neat style, has been placed in my hands by a member of that happy household in which she resided so long. It was addressed to one of the sisters, now dead, and cherished by another for the reminiscences it recalls of the beautiful attachment which existed through life between these two friends. “AURORA, _August 27th, 1826_. “DEAR MARIA:—Although I have been guilty of breaking my promise to you of writing, and treated you with neglect and indifference, still you are dear and near to me, still you are remembered with that affection which one must feel after being so long an inmate with so kind a girl, one who has bestowed upon me so many acts of kindness and friendship. No, Maria, I feel that I can never forget your family. My mind often reverts to the pleasant hours I have passed at your house. Many friendly conversations I have had with your mother after the family had retired to rest,—but those hours are gone never to return, yet the remembrance of them is sweet. Oh, that I may again have the pleasure of spending a happy evening in your family with the little children sitting near me, asking a thousand interesting questions. Perhaps I may see that time next winter—I hope so. “Would you like to know how I am pleased with the country? It does not appear to me as pleasant as Cayuga, but perhaps it may in time. I enjoy myself as well as I expected to; the inhabitants, as far as I am acquainted, appear friendly. I am not yet housekeeping, but am teaching school. But Mr. Dunning will give all these particulars more fully than I can write on this sheet of paper. You will have a pleasant visit with his sister Emily; I think her an amiable girl.