Sumter, S.C.
Mar. 14, 1867

Dear Fuller,

This is a cold stormy day and we have no school, being so extraordinarily careful of our precious healths that we shun the exposure. So I will improve the occasion by writing my weekly letters, which I hope will not partake of the gloomininess of the weather.

Now the most important topic in the mind of the "genus-homo" is always [?]. I share in the weakness of my race and as you are so insane as to propound several questions bearing upon that particular head, I shall take great pleasure in replying. Emerson says there is one topic which should always be excluded from civilized society, and never touched upon by well-bred people, namely their distempers. But it is a rather fascinating topic too.

You ask me to always tell you how I am . I would, if the letter was to be read by you on the day of its date. Am I well & strong? No; well & strong I shall never be again in the flesh. But I am never seriously ill, and the woeful feelings which occasionally crop out into [?] letters are all gone long before the letter reaches you. [?} repeat. Do not worry. If I should be seriously ill, you shall know it.

More grave is the next question and harder to answer. Shy do I want to die? I don't know, Fuller, I can't help it. I am sorry I ever told you of it, especially since it wounds you. I don't remember that I ever dreaded death, and the time has been that I have longed to die--no matter. I want to rest. I am tired of knocking about in the world, and with nobody to care whether I go or stay. I am tired of having my own way, and want to lie down & sleep--perchance dream. Yes, I would live for you if living would do you any good! but does it? Life does not keep us together--it keeps us apart. Then the world is so full of shame, oppression, injustice, cupidity--once I thought such a life as I am in now would be so glorious that I should feel so sensibly that I was working with God that I should be longing to live forever. It is not so. What can one do? God does not need my help. And it is [?] working in the dark. "We know not which shall prosper, this or that."

"Oh, far, far better that the lowliest bird
Should sing aright to Him the lowliest song
T han that a seraph strayed should take the world
And sing His glory wrong."

Something must b e wrong you say either in nature or education. My friend, you don't know me yet; when you do I am afraid you will find me all wrong.

You are responsible for this egotistical ramble. Your disgust be upon your own head.

Who can solve the mystery of life We know only that we are, but how? --what for? Suppose everything in the universe exists only in our imaginations?

I do not believe that in any sense life ceases at the grave. We are only free then;--freer than the air. Two worthy objects has our life--the pursuit of truth & holiness. Many hindrances in these pursuits weigh heavily upon us here; without the body and earthly life, we shall go onward to the Truth--upward to the Good--approaching ever to the Infinite Perfection which is our glorious inheritance as children of God! Think of the stores of knowledge too wonderful for us now, which will be freely offered by our kind Father and in which we may revel, thru all eternity! Think that then we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is. And not least of our happiness, to meet again those we loved here, and talk over all the events since they left us--

I read "Bitter Sweet" when it first came out, but have not seen it since. I remember liking it exceedingly as a whole. Since reading it however, I have changed my opinion so much of Dr. Hollonel, that I don't believe I should like it now. Does not your opinion of the writer greatly modify your opinion of his book?

I do not thing that "anything is a trifle to God, that affects the hearts of His children." I love to think of His kind loving care over me, that in everything that gives me pleasure He finds pleasure too; that the plans the little things that make my life happy; that He is grieved at my sorrow. More and more as the years roll on I feel that He is my best, truest, nearest friend. I wish I could have such a sense of it all the time that I would not do anything to grieve Him.

"Strive thou to stand," but not in [?] own strength. Is not the Rock of Ages a better support than I should be ever were I all you think me?

No more tonight. When I finish this I will try to move in a wider circle, though, according to Dr. Holmes, I must always be the center.

Again I take in hand my much enduring pen &tc. I wish I could give Mrs. Fisk some of my flowers. The children perfectly deluge us with bouquets of jonquils, violets, japonicas, hawthorne, and yellow jasmine. I enclose a bit of the last, which grows in the gardens here as luxuriantly as the woodbine with you. It is now in full flower, and makes the gardens look as if dressed for a ball.

You have little idea of the utter poverty of the South. Hundreds of planters will be obliged to stop work and give up all prospect of a crop, because they cannot feed their laborers. There are men who have been wealthy planters--feudal lords almost--owning thousands of acres of good land, who cannot raise a hundred dollars. There is no money, here; there are people at the North who would be glad to let them money under other circumstances, taking a lien upon the land as security who will not do it now because Congress may at any time annul the President's wholesale pardons, and confiscate the lands. The South is in a fair way to be pretty thoroughly subdued. The worst will fall chiefly upon those classes who were least to blame; that is always the case. but after all the prospect for the freed people is best of anything. They can work, and they can live upon next to nothing.

I am not wearied in reading your letters. Write as often as you can, & feel like it--"do good & lend, hoping for nothing again.

Augusta is about a hundred miles from here. There is a connected line of railroad between us. If you come South your easiest way (if you come by land) will lie through Sumter.

Yours as ever

Jane B. Smith.