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 have certainly a greater charm than these as proofs of love.

I spend the greater part of the forenoon in the garden among the flowers, birds, and butterflies, all splendid and strangers to me, and which salute me here as anonymous beauty. During these hours spent amid this new and beautiful nature, thoughts visit me which give me great joy and which in every way are a great comfort to me. I will explain: I have for sometime felt as if I could scarcely bear to read, nor yet to write anything which required the least exertion of mind, as it produces in me a degree of nervous suffering which is indescribable, and the effect of which remained long afterwards. I have therefore almost given up the hope of studying, and of making myself much acquainted with books during my residence in this country; this has been painful to me and I have long striven against it, because study has always been my greatest pleasure, and now more than ever was it necessary for me to be able to devour books, so that I might be somewhat at home in the life and literature of this country. Here, however, during these beautiful early mornings, in this beautiful, fragrant, silent world of trees and flowers, there has arisen within me a clearness, a certainty, something like the inner light of the Quakers, which tells me that it is best for me now to lay aside books, and altogether to yield myself up to live in that living life, to live free from care for the moment and to take and accept that which the hour and the occasion present, without troubling myself with many plans or much thought. I must let things come to me as they may come, and determine for me as they will determine. A conviction has come to my mind that a higher guidance attends me and that it will direct everything for the best; that I have nothing to do but to yield myself up to its inspiration so long as I keep my eye firmly directed to the Star of Bethlehem which led me hither—and I cannot