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  Dear Mr. Whitman

I think it must have been my guardian angel that gave thee the "impalpable nudge" to write to me. Thy card has come to cheer me just at a time when I am feeling unusually low in spirits & discouraged. I have been quite ill all summer—"over-work," "nervous prostration" & the rest—& in   spite of many weeks of tedious "absolute rest," I am worse & not better, & now I have to go off for I don't know how long to the Pyrennees, leaving my husband & the two little ones in England. I start tomorrow. The one bright spot is that mother is going with me. But thy letter has really cheered me—it reminds me that absence is not the end of everything   & it sings, without the definite words, the "Song of the Open Road." My road has seemed so shut up—I am laid aside in the midst of all the work I care for—fit for nothing—and oh! the horror of feeling one's mind, as well as one's physical powers, under an eclipse. I have not been able to read or study or write or do anything I cared   to all summer long.

But thy remembrance reminds me not to complain, & thy example encourages me to keep sound in spirits—"which is the main thing." Thank thee for writing.

I will write from the Pyrennees in a few days—& I hope I shall not be so egotistic & gloomy. I am sure thee will have seen Alys by this time & that she will have told thee all our news.

Gratefully & lovingly, Mary Costelloe.