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Thursday morning Dear friend Your very welcome letter came to me like a green spot in a desert, for I have been laboring under such a season of despondency that hung over me like the nightmare it seemed impossible to extricate myself from it and until I lost all abiding faith in myself, at least. I think it was partly owing to the great struggle of giving up the old homestead reaching, as you know it must to the very foundation, the love of home and its surroundings and all its varied attachments, the tearing away from old friends and associations and last of all our meetings and those who compose them. There is something so different in our meetings where we meet for converse soul to soul from the cold, formal, precise church.