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This is probably my last letter to you from this side of the water. Less than two weeks now, and I shall be on the water, daily drawing nearer to you. If I only had a home ready to go to it would be such a happy thought. But I cant go to my cottage without a servant and I am sorely perplexed how to get one. Of course Ann Adam and Chris Dunning are doing what they can. But there is very small probability that anything will be found there, at that time of year, when all the girls can have places at the hotels. Unless I receive word on landing that "Special Providence" as provided one, I shall go to Mrs. Brigham's house and advertise, but I feel very hopeless about even that method. 

My first week here was very rainy and I was more than a little blue, but now the weather is lovely. Yesterday and today quite like summer days, and how it changed the aspect of everything. The great mountains, so cold and forbidding have grown blue and tender, the picturesque hay making fills every field of the hill-sides and valleys. And the grass being cut gives so much more liberty in walking. I am trying to paint a little, but with very poor success, but it is better than doing nothing. What shall I do Phebe, when I get too old to paint? to keep myself from forever looking backward, and becoming a forlorn melancholy old woman? I expect Henry and Chary to join me next week, and stay till I go. That is if Henry is not detained in London